Should Be An Interesting Year
by choicescarfsylveon
Summary: Kurt and Sebastian end up as college roommates, unfortunately. (REWRITE)
1. Should Be An Interesting Year

**Author's Note:** If you're seeing this story for the first time, Should Be An Interesting Year is the Kurtbastian WIP I started in January of 2012 as ilovethesoundofviolins on this site (and cross-posted to Archiveofourown and Tumblr). It is canon up until the West Side Story performance episode in Season 3 and the rest drivels off into an AU until we meet Kurt again starting college. At the time I was watching Season 3 live so had decided to ignore some of the canon, but not all of it.

Back then I was working on graduating from college and the story was so much fun (and people drew me things!), but too large. Ended up taking me two years to almost-finish and then I graduated, and had to stop writing fanfiction at all pretty much. Lost track of even my own notes for the story at some point? It's all a blur lol. The point is, about a year ago I got curious as to whether or not anyone wanted to find the story again, and a few still did! I tracked down a pdf file of it from an old reader and realized I still kind of loved Glee and creating in its universe. And Kurt and Sebastian.

So, I'm attempting to rewrite/repolish all ~200,000 words of my old Kurtbastian romance. It's been five years, so I think the improvements in my editing and writing will allow me to pretty easily finish this thing (and add the short sequel I'd always wanted to!)

P.S. If you read this before, many things will be different about this SBAIY, mostly that I'm going pretty AU in this. Kurt and Finn are still stepbrothers as we know it, but for the purposes of this AU, Kurt has never met Rachel Berry. The plot will remain largely the same, but I may add another twist or two~

Ok, enough of me. Here's the thing, chapter by chapter as before. Updates will be approximately a week apart!

* * *

Kurt walked down the hall of his new, all-male dorm. It was early September and the move-in day of his first semester in college had finally come after a long, pleasant summer. Sure, so this place was no NYADA—it wasn't any college in New York and it was just an hour from home in fact—but Ohio State had a theater program, and Kurt planned on performing at his best no matter where he landed.

Plus, he thought as Burt and Finn followed behind, carrying boxes and talking of football, he was really happy to be getting a new start. He was nervous too; it was kind of scary, living on his own,fending for himself, starting his real life, but he couldn't help but feel excited as he dropped the box at his feet and slid the key card through the handle.

He couldn't help but feel like, after a senior year of losses, battles, and changing course, he'd finally made it to the next part of his life.

Kurt opened the door, however, picking up the box and taking it a few steps inside the double room, and found himself staring at the sight of his apparent new roommate. He knew this guy. Tall, slender dirty blonde dressed in a shirt so v-necked and fitted, you know he's gay. Leaning back in a desk chair legs propped on the desk, reading some kind of manual and a terribly distinguishable, mischievous smile painted across his snarky face. Directed at Kurt.

Sebastian Smythe. His new roommate for the Fall 2012 semester.

Sebastian was one person that Kurt certainly hoped he'd seen the last of last year, the heated lead Warbler who hardly took no for an answer when it came to stirring Kurt's anger, and trying to steal Kurt's boyfriend, among other things. This was who was going to be sharing this space with him, raining on his brand-new parade. Great.

"Kurt," Sebastian said. His voice was like liquid going down Kurt's back. "It's good to see you again."

Kurt was about to ask what kind of strings Sebastian pulled to manage this, how he found out—but Burt and Finn walked in, causing the tension in the room to break and settle, causing Kurt to resume his movement and drop the first box of many on the only spare bed in the room, pensively.

Burt looked over at Sebastian expectantly.

"You two know uh, each other?" he said then, to his son.

Kurt flushed at the question.

"We, uh," he stammered. Then, whispering, "He's, you know. That guy. With Blaine."

"Oh."

"Sebastian Smythe—" Sebastian cut off their whispering by suddenly appearing, tall and grand in their faces. He forwardly held a hand out to Burt. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hummel, I was a—friend of Blaine's, back at Dalton."

'Friend' is far from the correct terminology, Kurt thought. He watched their handshake, scowled internally at the meeting of those hands with his father's. Who knows where they'd been, from Grindr to the nearest bathroom stall, in the last day?

Burt nodded at Sebastian, and did that thing men do when appreciating the firmness of each other's handshakes. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Did you two, uh," Burt said, flickering his eyes between his son and this taller boy, "go to school together, when Kurt was there?"

"Unfortunately, no," Sebastian replied, flashing his gaze over at a very tense-looking Kurt, "I transferred for my last year, but, of course, I heard all about him. Your son was quite the countertenor for the Warblers, and everyone knew that he and Blaine were very, very close."

As Burt asked some other surface-level questions about the Dalton show choir which then turned into football – come on, Dad, stop having 'bro' talk with the enemy, Kurt wanted to tell him – Finn raised a clueless eyebrow at the growing discussion, glancing over at his brother.

When the light bulb clicked on, Finn cupped a hand around his mouth.

"Wait a sec, this is that guy." He was recalling that day during one of their West Side Story rehearsals, when Kurt had finally realized and told Finn: there seemed to be some "competition" for Blaine.

"Yeah." Kurt nodded. "This is the guy."

"Y'know I could'a sworn they went all-league this year," Burt was saying to Sebastian now, on some other note. "But I'm no good with remembering stats anymore, not since the heart attack–Kurt?"

Kurt smiled and perked up at his father. He could feel Sebastian's stare was on him; he really didn't want it there.

"We still have a couple of trips to make," Burt said. "'xcuse us, Sebastian, we're runnin' a little short on time here—"

"No, it's no problem." Sebastian grinned.

"Of course, right," Kurt quipped, as Finn and Burt walked towards the door.

"I'll just—I'll be out to the car in a minute, Dad," Kurt attached, breathlessly. "I'd just like to say a little something to my good old best friend Sebastian here, if you don't mind." He clasped his hands colloquially, and Sebastian looked amused. "Roommate agreements, general catching up, what have you. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be quick."

Burt raised an eyebrow, gave him an amused, "Okay," Finn's eyes grew a bit wide; the two of them left the room.

Soon as the door shut, Kurt whipped his eyes back 'round toward Sebastian.

"Well if this isn't a fantastic 'welcome home' present than I don't know what is," Kurt said. Sebastian laughed.

"I meant it when I said that it's good to see you, Kurt," he said through his smirk, leaning against the post of his newly-claimed bed.

"Really," Kurt droned.

"Really," Sebastian repeated, giving him a small wink.

"And why would there be anything good about seeing me?" Kurt asked.

"You know how badly I get a kick out of watching you squirm," Sebastian returned, biting the inside of his cheek. "Living together, sharing close quarters with you and that steadfast gay can't possibly imagine my excitement."

"It's great to see that your leaky little brain still hasn't come up with any better insults for me than 'gay face'—"

"Ohio State?" Sebastian spoke again, rising and walking predatory levels of close to Kurt. "Guess your big New York dreams crashed and burned?"

"And what of yours? They didn't crash or burn," Kurt replied swiftly, turning up his nose. "They just changed. Change is a part of life."

"And Blaine?" Sebastian prompted.

"We're still together," Kurt fired back.

"Cute."

"It is."

"Your disillusionment with how tied you two are is adorable."

"And your jealousy of the fact that Blaine never wanted you is so pungent that I could smell it from the parking lot."

Sebastian chuckled. "Blaine is irrelevant."

"Yes, he is now, isn't he?" Kurt sang.

"Here's the thing," Sebastian said, squaring off with Kurt before him. "Apparently we're going to be spending a lot of time together—"

"As little as I can stand," Kurt cut in.

"I plan on having sex," Sebastian told him promisingly. "On the bed, on the floor, in the shower, and probably on top of that pretty little windowsill, right next to your bed—"

"Well it's a good thing STDs aren't transferable through air contact."

"I know that you're about as prude as they come, so I'm just letting you know now, that this is a warning. I'm not up for compromise."

"Do whatever, or whoever, you want," Kurt said with a haughty flick of his hand. "And when Blaine comes to stay the night I'll make sure to fill you in."

"Fine," Sebastian said. "Should be an interesting year, then."

"Enthralling," Kurt returned.

"Can't wait."

"Oh, neither can I."

And that was when Burt and Finn stepped in again, rapidly dissolving the tension. Carrying a full sized mirror, a foldable bookshelf, and several bags full of the contents of Kurt's armoire.

Kurt smiled and Sebastian moved away from his side, returning to the back half of the room and the chair he'd been fixed in before.

"Figure out some ground rules?" Burt asked, piling things on the bed, his back to the two of them.

"I think so," Sebastian said, nodding at Kurt from behind his book.

Kurt glared at him.

"Very much so."

"Good," Burt said, hands on his son's shoulders, walking him away from the fight. "So that means you can come back down, 'n help us get all of your things out from that trunk—"

Sebastian leveled his eyes at Kurt soundly, then once he was gone, smiled widely into the pages of his book.

This really was going to be an interesting year.


	2. Sock On My Knob

Here are some notes about my SBAIY-specific AU. I will add anything else I think is relevant as we go along!

\- Rachel was never a part of Glee club. Finn still joined because he was blackmailed by Mr. Schue, but instead of Rachel, it was Tina he had the off and on affairs with, the "loser" he fell for and cheated on Quinn with. West Side Story still happened but Tina was the lead instead of Rachel. Tina was Kurt's best friend at McKinley

\- Rachel is from a part of Ohio hours away and went to Fairbrook High school, never meeting anyone in New Directions, but still had the same personality and role at her school there. Still a headstrong singer with gay dads, etc.

\- As in the OG, Kurt and Finn are stepbrothers because Burt and Carole met their sophomore year

\- All the stuff with Karofsky still happened, Kurt went to Dalton for a few months and returned

* * *

For the first couple of days, Kurt wasn't quite sure he preferred state college to his familiar high school, but soon, he was finding himself adjusting to things. Starting to feel confident in his independence, and this chance at a fresh new start. He had most of his classes in the morning, and most were impersonal, lecture-based general eds, all two hundred identical students being talked at in a massive auditorium by professors, who kind of scared him, mostly because had to call them 'professor,' a word with such weight and pressure.

At a just-about-moderately-ranked school like Ohio State, Kurt was a number; as long as his parents paid tuition, the administration wasn't going to hound him about showing up to class, or deciding to suck someone's face in the back corner of Bio 101, as Kurt had seen two girls blatantly do on the first day.

Kurt found it was nice being a no-name in a sea of thousands, and being one of the youngest people on campus. But he was nostalgic for the tight-knit community that was his former Glee club, the New Directions. Finn and Tina and all of those guys were guaranteed to be friends because of their obscure, extremely polarizing interest in harmonized show tunes. But, there were new cultures and worlds all around in this place, Kurt supposed, even if it was still Ohio. It's just that in high school, Kurt was the constant recipient of sideways glances and stares. From his fashion sense and exaggerated pompadour hairstyle, to the aura he was just born giving off, radiating it, Kurt Hummel was obviously gay. And at McKinley High, where the conservative and bigoted hiveminded, anyone who wasn't straight was basically a leper.

Here, at first, it was strange for him to realize that no one cared. Unlike at his alma mater, he was certainly not the only out person on campus. There was a rather put-together, visible gay, les and queer community on campus, in the form of the Gay Lesbian Bi and Transgender Student Alliance. Kurt liked the girl he'd befriend during Welcome Week at the club booth for said alliance, Rachel Berry, well enough. Sort of. The loud and clearly self-assured brunette was a self-proclaimed "straight ally" and freshman co-director of the GLBTSA, and a musical theater major like Kurt, too. However, while he did sign up for the alliance email list, Kurt was so homesick for his old life, all he really wanted to do between classes was socialize digitally with Blaine. So that was what he did.

Kurt was hoping that Sebastian Smythe, former Dalton celebrity and overall pain in the ass of a clearly-only-child, would be scarce so that he and his boyfriend could FaceTime in peace. But it turned out he and Sebastian had similar class schedules; both needed privacy at the same times of the afternoons and evenings, but one of them was usually too busy (read: selfish) to let the other have it.

Usually that one of them was Sebastian.

Living with Sebastian was Sebastian interrupting Kurt's sessions with Blaine to talk and catch up with the boy he once failed to capture. Purposefully walking around the room doing background things shirtless, showing off that gold, long and able torso. Kurt really wished Sebastian didn't get to have that on top of many other things, like being some kind of millionaire because his parents were from Westerville, the most secluded and privileged neighborhood in the southwest-most county of midwestern Ohio.

It was Kurt telling Sebastian that if he left another god-awful, Steve-from-Blue's-Clues-esque striped polo on his Dior rug, he was going to burn the shirt and sacrifice it to the circle of hell designated for fashion-decency-rule-breakers. Also, did he have to be half-naked? All the freaking time?

Their afternoons usually transpired in a fashion such as this: at the start of the third week, Kurt walked into their room just coming from his only Theater class of the semester, and Sebastian was sitting at his desk in a thin muscle tee and jeans. Working on some kind of homework and singing the lyrics of a song on his Pandora radio:

"Baby boy, where ya at? / Got no strings, got men attached / Can't stop this feeling for long, no / You makin' dogs want to beg / Breaking them off your fancy legs / But they make you feel right at home now-"

Ugh, he would be singing that song. Upon hearing Kurt take a step inside, Sebastian turned around and flashed his devious hazel eyes at his roommate, giving him the slightest of regards. Kurt dropped his binders and books on his bed without grace, purposefully curt, and unwrapping the frayed scarf from his flushed neck. Garing at the way the desk light highlighted the curves of Sebastian's biceps, the veins in his forearms as he sang:

"Oh I swear there's somethin' when he's pumpin' / Askin' for a raise / Well does he want me carry him home now? / Does he want me to buy him things? / On my house, on my job / On my loot, my shoes, my shirt, my crew, my mind, my father's last name-"

Kurt tore his eyes away from Sebastian's skin and focused instead on how deplorable Sebastian's taste in music was and how often he had to please, please ask Sebastian nicely to turn the volume down while he studied, or he was going to have to take his sweet little iPhone and introduce it to his friend called the washing machine, who lived just down the hall.

"Afternoon, Kurt," Sebastian said absently, eyes on his book, taking a break from serenading himself.

Kurt didn't dignify him with a response as he unzipped off his knee-high, navy, leather combat boots and stored them pristinely with the others, all sixteen pairs of them, underneath his lofted bed. He already wasn't having a very good day, realizing the first big exams of each class were coming around and he was humiliating nervous for his designated test days, it was going to be the first big measure of whether or not Kurt had what it took. He didn't need Sebastian making things any more nerve-wracking, and yet-

"There's a floor meeting at ten tonight," Sebastian was saying now, over the sound of the loud, funky music. "RA came by, wanted me to tell you."

Kurt sighed noisily, removing his Burberry sweater and hanging it from his closet door hook.

"Thanks," he said, drab. "I already knew."

Sebastian watched Kurt as he sat down at his desk, which faced the same way as Seb's towards the two twin blinded windows along the back wall. Kurt flipped through his Introduction to Theater binder, unhinged his papers and set them in an orderly fashion, then cleared his throat loudly.

"Baby boy, you the shit / That makes you my equivalent / You could keep your toys in the drawer tonight / All my dogs talkin' fast, ain't you got some photographs? / 'Cause you shook the room like a star, know you did-"

Kurt practically winced at the sound of Sebastian's steady, even voice holding a run on the last note.

"Sebastian?" His voice was mock-sweetness, pure venom, as he smiled and squinted. "We both know how much I enjoy your creepy, crooning, R&B odes to one-night-stands, but would you mind keeping it to a minimum while I study? I'd really appreciate it."

Sebastian chuckled, pressed the 'plus' button on the side of his iPhone, raising the volume. Kurt didn't know why he'd even bothered to ask.

"There's a library across campus for a reason," he said, half dancing in his chair, tapping his socked foot against the carpet.

"Look," Kurt nearly growled, "I've got headphones, you can borrow them if you need to, but I can't hear myself think over the sounds of this unripe, untalented, sex-saturated Congo-music—"

"Don't you think calling it 'Congo' music is kind of racist?" At the look on Kurt's face, Sebastian laughed. "Robin Thicke is far from untalented," he said then. "He's expressive."

"Yes, and I've expressed numerous times in the past few weeks that I don't want to hear it."

Sebastian ignored him.

"All these intrusions just take us too long /" he was singing directly to Kurt now. "And I want you so bad / Because you walk city / Because you talk city / Because you make me sick / And I'm not leaving / 'Til you're leaving-"

Kurt had to admit, it was less that this song was objectively horrible and more that he had some bad, bad memories associated with it. He'll never forget the day Blaine, his one love, stood up in the middle of a GAP and embarassingly belted this song-without changing the pronouns-to an unworthy and mop-headed three-years-older boy. Jeremiah rejected Blaine's advances, and while watching him profess his love for someone else, Kurt realized just how bad he wanted Blaine, sexually and in all other ways that there were to want a person.

"When I get you alone / When I get you you'll know, babe / When I get you alone / When I get you alone-"

Sebastian finally lowered the volume as the last repeat of the chorus died out, and then stood up from his desk.

"For someone who's so into music, you could really stand to broaden your horizons, Kurt," Sebastian said, leaning against his chair, scrolling through his phone. "Take a listen on the wild side for a change."

"Broadway and occasionally off-Broadway musical theater score, my personal genre of preference, is much more substantial than the 'wild' and unoriginal garbage you know and love." He was grateful for the almost-silence, took a short breath, eyeing Sebastian judgmentally. "I bet you've never even seen a real Broadway musical, have you?" he said.

"No, but I know you haven't either," said Sebastian, to which Kurt raised his brows. "Don't try to play snotty-artsy with me, the only musicals you've ever seen are the ones you starred in at your backwoods high school, like the joke of the West Side Story performance senior year that was only saved by Blaine's broad mass appeal, and that ass, of course. Let's not pretend you haven't only been to New York twice, and even then it was for the National Show Choir Competition. That you lost. Both times."

That stung more than Kurt would ever admit, and reminded him just how deep the thorns of Sebastian were in him. Sebastian was there last year, for the heartache and struggle of almost losing his boyfriend and his Dad in such a short period, and Sebastian sitting watching Blaine in the stands with roses as he played, and killed, Tony during West Side Story, that night and how much it changed Kurt's life, made him realize how fickle it all really was.

Kurt just stared at the other boy now, blinking rapidly, trying to regain himself.

"I've flown to New York with my dad on business dozens of times," Sebastian continued, walking over to the top drawer of his dresser, removing headphones from it, "and I can assure you that there were always better things to do than wait in line with hags and their homos at the Gershwin. Night clubs, twenty one and up bars—lusty Wall Street interns, fresh out of work—"

Kurt held his hands up unceremoniously.

"I'm going to have to stop you right there, Sebastian. If I wanted to hear about the life of a big city streetwalker, I'd watch Pretty Woman."

Kurt was ready to abandon ship or kick his former-almost-classmate/lousy-almost-boyfriend-stealer out by the end of that day, but unfortunately his attempts were to no avail. ("Not enough space," the officer on the phone at the housing office had told him, bleak.)

And anyway, once Sebastian quite probably heard Kurt speaking with the housing director, loudly and on purpose, he decided to take things up a notch, clearly.

"So, Kurt." It was Wednesday afternoon and Sebastian was coming back from class, peeling off his jacket, tossing it a few inches over the border of Kurt's side.

Kurt glared at the patterned polyester with all the 'bitch' he could muster, then turned a page in his book. "I thought we agreed that unless it was about business, you and your painfully regressive wardrobe were invisible to me."

"This is all business." Seb dropped his shirt near the jacket. "I have a new rule, for our contract."

"Oh?"

"I'm assuming you've never heard of the sock on the doorknob rule."

When Kurt raised his eyebrows accordingly, Sebastian grinned.

"To put it delicately, I'm having a guy I met at Scandals over the summer come over tonight," he said as he rummaged through a drawer for another shirt, "and he's planning on staying."

As far as the vague promiscuous threats from their first dorming day together, Kurt thought he was safe, for a while. He thought that when Sebastian said he was planning on having sex on Kurt's "pretty little windowsill," he was just being, well, a regular pompous boy. All talk, no follow through.

Sebastian'd already had three guys over that week: Thad from Dalton, who Kurt went to school with while he attended and who he actually enjoyed seeing, before remembering that anyone who associated with this guy was probably also a rich asshole, and two other vaguely attractive Anglo-Saxons who'd introduced themselves as "friends" of Sebastian to Kurt, all while getting practically eyefucked by the man himself. But the guys had each stayed only an hour or two, and whatever transpired happened somewhere in a car or off campus, Kurt could reasonably assume. Apparently this fourth one was going to be a "stayer." What did a sock have to do with anything?

"Not only do I feel terrible for the poor fellow you must've scammed on and quite possibly drugged in order for him to consider spending even more time with you, post your first encounter," Kurt responded, "but I also feel bad for you, for expecting that I'm just going to conveniently disappear anytime you want to use this place as a turnstile to pay yourself out. You're clearly delusional."

Sebastian laughed, slinging his new shirt over his shoulder, crossing his arms, tension forming in them. Kurt swallowed.

"Unlike most, and unlike you, I'm not ashamed having of lots of sex. I'm so good, I don't need to get paid. I consider my skill set a gift to mankind."

"Oh, please. Put a sock in your mouth."

"The way this is going to work," Sebastian continued, walking into Kurt's 'half,' "is that if you leave, come back, and one of my socks is stretched over that brass little knob, it means I'm giving some 'poor fellow' the best stiff hour of his week."

"Ew."

"Better than the ten sweet minutes you'd ever give to Blaine. If you were a top."

Kurt tried not to let offense rise in his chest, literally bit his own tongue to keep himself from wailing that with Blaine it was much, much more than that. This wasn't high school, Blaine hadn't even seen Sebastian in months. He had nothing to worry about it. If he was going to last an entire year feeling this much anger, he was definitely going to have to pick his battles.

"Anyway, he's on his way here now, so I'm going to have to ask you to clear out." Sebastian's smile was still brilliantly wide, undeterred. "I'm sure you can find something to amuse yourself with while I'm working. A copy of Vogue, a bottle of lotion?"

Kurt slammed his his book shut suddenly, rose to his feet to get his keys and things.

"How do men even begin to like someone like you?" he said.

"Stand by the door tonight, I think you'll get a pretty good idea."

Kurt yanked his keys from their post on his bulletin board, in protest.

"It's not like I plan on a sock every minute of every day," Sebastian said. "It'll just be for casual instances, so. Don't get your panties in a knot."

Kurt actually groaned as he scrambled for the doorknob, could practically feel Sebastian's grin burning the skin on his back, as he turned on him.

Kurt dialed Blaine's number the moment he got outside, and demanded Blaine give him five good reasons, with sources, why he shouldn't poison Sebastian in his sleep tonight.

In lieu of being able to Skype with Blaine in the privacy of his dorm room, Kurt spent time at Rachel's that evening. She lived in the all-girls freshman dorm across the way. Dressed in what had to be an eight year old's confirmation dress (why did everyone at Ohio State dress so badly?), Miss Berry was currently trying to convince him to go to some ill-conceived house party on fraternity row called "The De-Flowering," and "Seriously, Rachel? This has 'date rape' written all over it" "It's romantic! Like the soft, fragile petals being torn from a stem as he repeats, 'she loves me, she loves me not.'"

The party wasn't nearly as horrific as Kurt's imagined it would be, the frat house was beautifully large and antique and Kurt wished any of the meatheads who lived there had even a fraction of an idea how much the place and the stuff in it was worth, how little they were valuing it-but he cringed at the sight of people throwing up into potted plants, trolling in beer pong. He was only able to stand it for an hour before he told Rachel, who was up-in-arms with some particular very straight baseball player, that he was going to head out.

More than three hours had gone by since he'd last checked the doorknob with Rachel, before they left to go to the party. Surely Sebastian the Sex-glutton would be done by now.

He wasn't, of course.

Kurt waited almost another hour tired and standing outside the hall, tapping his toes against the cheap, rough carpet and texting Blaine a series of messages he would not answer, because he was asleep. While he was out there one of the cute black guys on their floor, James something-or-other, he'd introduced himself during the first week, passed and smiled first at Kurt, and then at the doorknob.

"Been there, bro." He held up his fist. "Your roommate some kind of stallion or something?"

"Clearly."

Kurt fake-smiled back just as Sebastian's latest pale ingénue was opening up the door to their room and stumbling out, clearly drunk. Kurt entered the room to find that an enormous amount of air freshener had been sprayed and that Sebastian was getting his things to hit the shower.

"Chlamydia's going to look fantastic on you," Kurt fired as he slammed the door behind himself. "I hear it's all the rage this season."

"Really, how long did it take you to come up with that one?" Sebastian looked more visibly irritated by the remark than usual. Seemed like he hadn't had the best hour with this poor guy in particular, for once. Kurt couldn't care any less. But, seeing him somber after sex for once was something; disturbance on the war front, perhaps?

Not so much. Friday morning, Kurt woke up around nine and automatically frowned at the sight of Sebastian across the room as he lounged in bed, with very little else but glasses on, reading. What was it he was always reading? Kurt slipped on his flip-flops and velvety robe, grabbed his shower caddy and left the room to take what was intended to be a somewhat fast shower.

But in the half hour that passed, Sebastian had somehow managed to put another damn sock on it.

"Oh come on, are you serious? Sebastian!"

Kurt stood with wet hair and a tote full of skin care products for forty five minutes garnering judgmental looks and pitiful chuckles from passersby until Sebastian finally opened the door, and James something-or-other shuffled out, giddy and red faced.

"Sorry, bro," he laughed carelessly, zipping his jeans up.

Kurt stalked in half-robed and furious, and Sebastian, shirtless and sweaty, laughed at how disheveled he appeared.

"Just so you know, I hate you," Kurt groaned.

"Just so you know, I hate you too," Sebastian answered.

Sebastian said he had something to do for most of the day on Friday, and Kurt was relieved to see him leave. Kurt wanted to attend the movie night event in the campus center later on in the evening—Blaine was going to be busy with New Directions practice, and besides, he needed to try and get out and meet people-but he completely dreaded the idea of leaving the room unattended for too long. Apparently it was dangerous to ever stop watching his back, and apparently, Sebastian could manifest hook-ups like water benders could the sea.

"He's done it twice already today?" Rachel asked Kurt of his roommate, watching as he hair sprayed his pompadour in his lit, full-sized mirror. This was the first time she'd been to Kurt's dorm room, or the male side of the freshman quad at all. "How does he get so many girls to sleep with him?"

Kurt laughed. "Girls? You do know he's gay, right? Like, the gayest manwhore I think I've ever met."

Rachel laughed, too. "Well, it is true what they say: the hottest ones always are."

"Gross."

The movie was interesting but Kurt could hardly focus on it, what with feeling like he had to go back and anxiously stand guard at his bedpost, to keep Sebastian from starting anymore sock-business. When he got back at around nine, his suspicions were confirmed. He was too late, and this time, the sock over the knob was disgusting. Once white, now grayed and yellowed, it smelled like the month-old fondue Brittany S. Pierce used to use on her webshow.

Now this has to be a joke, Kurt thought, fuming.

This time the man that walked out was older than the others had been, like, twenty years older, and he'd started at the sight of Kurt, ran out of the hall like he was seeing ghosts.

Kurt walked into the room to find Sebastian clad in thin, damp boxers, removing his also-damp sheets from the bed and gathering his laundry to take it down the hall. One of his sheets was barely touching the rim of Kurt's Dior floor rug and it made the vein visible in his forehead pulse. He needed to remember to breathe. Arrhythmias were genetic for the Hummels.

"Seriously, this is just ridiculous, Sebastian," he tried saying calmly. And then: "That sock out there should be classified by the US Food and Drug Administration as deadly toxic waste!"

"Rule doesn't say that the sock can't be used," Sebastian returned, as if he'd written it down somewhere.

"Well y'know, I think we need a new rule," Kurt glowered, his voice almost shaking. He kept wanting to stare at Sebastian's long, long legs, immediately and furiously felt himself blushing at the shine on his muscles that were caught in the light. Gross. "About just how often you can continue to be sleazy. I don't know if at this point you bother to keep count, but I've been locked out by you and your gallivanting at least three times in the last two days, and I—"

"Can't make a rule unless both parties agree," Sebastian interrupted. "Looks like you're still gonna get the short end of this stick, unless I say so."

Kurt silently fumed as Sebastian left the room, trailing his sheets on the floor behind him like a train.

Saturday morning, Kurt almost considered not showering. When Sebastian left for his shower, he thought about throwing a sock up purely for revenge. Instead he shot Sebastian the dirtiest looks he could manage all morning, as the silently two avoided each other, getting ready for the day.

There was a football game on campus that afternoon, and though Kurt cared more about most other things in the world than he did about football, no offense to Finn, Blaine wanted a live viewing of the state game from Kurt's close-up student section seats. Kurt kept Blaine by his side on his iPhone the entire afternoon, and it made him feel better about how awful things had been with Sebastian. It turned out that Rachel absolutely loved Blaine, too much, in fact, and again reinforced to Kurt that the best looking guys were always on the other team.

Kurt couldn't lie about that when it came to his Blaine, whose boyish excitement and big, heaps of joyous brown eyes he still enjoyed just as much even on the screen of his phone. He sometimes thought loved Blaine just as much, if not more, when they were apart. Though having him just a click away, in his pocket at all times, made him feel like they never were really apart anyway.

Kurt was having an astounding afternoon until he realized Sebastian was at the game, too. Kurt went to the restroom on a phone-break with Blaine and saw him standing in a concession line, with "summer Scandals" guy from Wednesday and a beer, objectifying and smiling at the kid like he had the worst of intentions for him. His hands were in the guy's pockets, all over his ass. Kurt panicked internally when he realized Sebastian and the guy were getting ready to go now, and had it not been such a close game, if Blaine wasn't dying to see how it ended, he would've run as fast as he could to the room to intercept his impending fate.

He just about wanted to throw something when he got back to the room hours later, and found himself locked. On the other side of the door he could hear the faint sound of skin-slapping, Scandals boy moaning obscenely. Had Kurt not disliked Sebastian's personality and everything about him to such an extent, he would've been genuinely concerned for the risks to his health for getting that much action. Sheesh.

He read something menial on his phone in the hallway until Sebastian finally let the door open, was walking out with his friend just as Kurt was entering, disregarding Kurt's existence as he quickly left the vicinity.

Kurt took two steps in the room and his jaw almost unhinged. Two condoms, used, and a pair of sticky, dismissed boxers lie on his Dior rug.

"SEBASTIAN!"

Several hours later, Sebastian came back while Kurt was in the middle of his Bio homework, which he'd only just recently calmed down enough to do. On the back of his assignment, he was also writing murder mystery musical plots.

Kurt stared in outrage to find that Sebastian had a visitor who was a completely different guy than the one he'd just been with before. Kurt stood up quickly, his red-hot anger burning in his cheeks as he tried to forget those sounds, he'd heard earlier.

"If you ever, leave any of your trash on this rug that's worth more than your life again," Kurt raged, as Sebastian gave him a vindictive, crooked smile, "I will literally throw everything you own out my window, where it can find happily ever after five stories down."

Sebastian's friend chuckled as Sebastian just stared at Kurt, steady and smug. He licked his lips once, in a way that made Kurt feel on edge. What was a look like that supposed to mean?

"I guess this is your roommate," the friend said from Sebastian's side. "I totally see what you mean."

"Gets worse when he's PMSing," Sebastian said, not taking his eyes off Kurt.

"I am not leaving," Kurt grunted now, crossing his arms over his chest, indignant. "I don't care if you two have to use the bathroom down the hall or a portapotty on the other side of campus—"

"We'll be in the shower," Sebastian informed him. He gave his friend eyes as he quickly removed his own shirt, and then the two of them followed each other out.

It took one more morning of Sebastian somehow hypnotizing James for long enough to lock him out while he showered again, for Kurt to get in his Ford Escape that Sunday and drive away from campus furiously, trying to work through his complicated emotions at Blaine as he went.

"Hi." Kurt was short and terse, when Blaine answered his wireless Bluetooth call.

"Hi, baby. You sound-is everything okay?"

"No."

"No?"

Kurt took a deep breath as he sped onto the freeway, remembering that this was Blaine, and Blaine was everything to him. He didn't deserve for Kurt to be cross with him.

"Sorry, not trying to be a downer. It was just a rough night. Again."

"Sebastian still being Sebastian?"

"Yep."

"How many times has he pulled the whole sock thing?"

"Six? Seven? Nineteen? Ninety-eight? You know it's an appalling amount when I can't even count it." Kurt turned on his signal, changed lanes. "He's left me stranded in the hallway for hours all week, I'm telling you, hours. On Thursday I was so late to my Chem lab, the professor slammed the door in my face!"

"Geez. I knew he was, you know, bad, but. Not this bad."

"You're just lucky you don't live with him."

Blaine was quiet.

"Anyway." Kurt exhaled, picturing Blaine's face, those gold-brown eyes and that comforting smile. "What are your plans for today, beautiful?"

"Nothin' much, really. My dad still hasn't-helped me out, with the car, so. It's not like I could go someplace , if I wanted to."

Kurt pressed his heel down further on the gas pedal.

"Why? What are your plans today?"

"Sit tight," Kurt answered, smiling crookedly. "I'm coming to Lima to pick you up right now."

"Wha—really?" Blaine's shocked tone of voice was one of Kurt's favorites, his heart practically fed off of it. "You're serious?"

"Serious as the fact that I've been driving in your direction for fifteen minutes!"

"Oh, you. You always know exactly what I'm going to need, before I can even say I need it. Are we going somewhere? Should I put on a different shirt, or a bowtie, or-"

"Wear whatever you'd like," Kurt answered. "Just as long as it's not that god awful pink tie with those green suspenders—seriously Blaine, I don't know what you were thinking that day—"

"You took those both away from me, anyway."

"I did, didn't I?"

"Wow, I can't wait to see you. What a way to wake up Sunday morning!"

Kurt couldn't've agreed more.

"Do you need gas money, anything? I know you said you're short on cash for trips to Lima—"

"No no no, put your money away, sugar lips," Kurt assured him. "This will be worth it, I promise."

Two and half hours later, after a car ride of Blaine giving Kurt heart-eyed gazes and Blaine clearly becoming more and more excitedly anxious as to what was in store for him at Kurt's place, Kurt let Blaine into the dorm with his key, and—

Perfect. Sebastian was gone now, just like he had been at this time on Sunday morning last.

Kurt dropped his things on Sebastian's side of the room as Blaine took a look around, probably noting Kurt's extravagant, mauve and maroon-colored side, versus Sebastian's generic, navy-and-black themed side.

"I can't wait 'til I get to live on my own like you," Blaine said, fingers fixing to loosen his bow tie. Kurt smiled, feeling a little tug at his heart as Blaine's eyes hazed over with a twinge of sadness. Maybe a little resentment.

"Just make sure you get a solo room when you go off to college," Kurt said. "You never know what kind of narcissistic maniacal sociopaths they'll set you up with at random. They might even refuse to let you change that."

Blaine chuckled and eyed Kurt carefully as Kurt sat down on his bed, ran his hands in soothing little circles over the comforter.

"I've missed you," Blaine said, walking closer to him.

Kurt had heard him say it every day and every night, but in person, like this, it made him feel breathless.

"I've really missed you too," Kurt answered, softly.

Blaine sat next to Kurt, very close, tangled their fingers together.

"Are we—going to be alone for a while?" Blaine's voice was low, his eyes eager.

"As long as I want us to be," Kurt said.

Blaine learned in, catching Kurt's lips in a light kiss. Kurt kissed him back, ran his tongue across Blaine's lower lip, breath becoming shorter and hand running up his boyfriend's forearm, light to the touch. Blaine glided his fingers across the base of Kurt's neck, his sensitive hairline, and Kurt wasted no time pressing a thumb to Blaine's jaw, angling him just so, so he could slide his tongue across Blaine's, an agonizingly slow drag.

Blaine gravitated closer to Kurt's body, letting Kurt's tongue back in his mouth, sucking on it as it moved in and out of his mouth in a flawless, tempting rhythm.

"Mmh—you—" Blaine whispered as Kurt pulled back a little.

"What?" Kurt left long, wet kisses across Blaine's smooth jaw and then playfully bit the other boy's earlobe. Blaine grasped at Kurt's waist as Kurt inhaled the warm scent that was only Blaine's, as he kissed love from his neck to his collarbones.

"I can't believe I've lasted even three weeks without you," Blaine said.

Kurt moved back up to kiss Blaine's lips hungrily, then grunted, broke contact, and stood up triumphantly from the bed, nearly dashing across the room to Sebastian's side.

Blaine frowned a little as he sat up, eyes trained on his boyfriend's figure. "Kurt, what are you doing?"

"Socks." Kurt growled, nearly throwing Sebastian's sock drawer open. He bundled almost all of them in his arms, about thirty to forty mismatched singles, and practically ran to open the bedroom door. He threw them all out of it furiously and laughed as they landed in heaps on the carpet, littering the space before the door and far beyond it.

When Kurt came back in, face flushed and panting, Blaine looked a little scared, exhilarated.

"Are you—? I haven't seen you this mad since, I'm not even sure."

"Fantastic," said Kurt. "Never been better. He's about to get a taste of his own friggin' medicine."

Kurt threw open his own drawer and grabbed handfuls of neatly paired cashmere socks, throwing bundles at Sebastian's bedspread and desk like he had intent to injure. He then slid the last of them over the knob outside, locked it, then climbed back into his bed, leaning in to bite Blaine's lips, and push him down under him.

Blaine closed his eyes, letting Kurt press his chest into his so that they fell back onto the bed. Blaine shifted to put his head against the pillow and Kurt drove his hips into Blaine's, creating slow friction; their kiss deepened and Blaine gripped Kurt's shoulders to pull their bodies closer. Blaine's hands were grasping and needy, nearly ripping into Kurt's shirt entirely and Kurt marveled at how good Blaine's hips felt against his already, even through thick jeans and thin cotton.

Kurt ran his hands beneath Blaine's shirt as he nipped Blaine's soft neck, fingers trailing over flesh and hip bones. Blaine began to bunch Kurt's shirt up, wringing it over his head and stripping that and his two undershirts; god Blaine looked so eager for Kurt, to feel skin on skin and heat and sweat, and it felt like so long since the summer when they'd practiced this every day.

"Fuck me," Blaine whispered, between Kurt's tongue in his mouth. "Fuck me, Kurt, please."

Kurt broke their kiss and propped himself up, leaving the bed and Blaine's panting body to retrieve lube from nightstand. He applied it to himself and kneeled on the bed again, staring into Blaine's familiarly lust-blown pupils; as Blaine spread his legs Kurt lubed up two of his two fingers, teasing them over Blaine's entrance, and quickly palming his own dick, emitting an eager, choked out sigh. His eyes never left Blaine's as Blaine exhaled and told him, like always,

"You're so gorgeous, Kurt."

His fingers entered Blaine to stretch him as willing moans broke from Blaine's kiss-swollen lips. Blaine tightened around his fingers, legs shaking and back beginning to writhe as Kurt entered a third. Kurt abruptly removed them, used the beads of pre-come dripping from his head to slick up the rest of himself, and leaned his flushed torso over Blaine's, aligning himself and inhaling in anticipation-no condoms needed here, they'd been at this for a while, and knew that they always would be—

He pressed his cock against Blaine's giving entrance, inching in steady and Blaine's eyes clenched shut, his voice made those same, lovely sounds that drove Kurt to temporary insanity. Kurt loved how Blaine always gripped his lower back to pullhim inside even further, to bring their hips even closer. Kurt picked up his pace, feeling Blaine gaze his stomach and warmth blooming in his chest in fluttering bursts, like his heart was on fire.

"I love you," Kurt said breathless as he still pushed in and out of Blaine; Blaine's legs were wrapped around his back and he was so in the moment that he was starting to get heady-dizzy, and everything felt right, everything—this was so worth it, staying in Ohio to be close to Blaine, Blaine would always be safe, warm, and worth it—

"I love you too," Blaine sighed back. "I love you, I love you—"

They came and collapsed into each other. Kurt rested his body on top of Blaine's afterwards, heat burning all around them them, Blaine leaving sweet, breathy kisses on Kurt's sweat-slicked forehead. Kurt stayed put for several quiet, serene minutes, focusing on the sound and feel of Blaine's quick-beating heart.

In a moment, Kurt began to smile and pick himself up, staring down at his boyfriend affectionately.

"What?" Blaine was doing the hearts with his eyes thing again.

"Nothing," Kurt said, running his thumb down Blaine's soft cheek. "Let's get dressed, I wanna give you the grand tour around campus. Okay?"

As Kurt watched Blaine turn his back and redress, he realized he'd almost forgotten the socks just littering his roommate's bed sheets, or who his roommate even was, for that matter. But just then, with three hard, slow knocks on the door, and that voice mumbling something, he remembered.

He made quick, excited eye contact with Blaine.

"Go to that top drawer. I have an idea."

Sebastian had the dorm room door opened for him by Kurt only to have dozens of paisley-ed and argyle-ed socks hurled into his face from Kurt's and Blaine's grubby hands. That wasn't including the socks Seb was currently standing in, very much annoyed, but knowing that he deserved this.

When Kurt and Blaine were done, and high-fived each other, he rolled his eyes, applauded.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kurt said as Sebastian moved past him through the door. "Was that enough socks for you? Did I get the point across, huh?"

Sebastian was too busy eyeing Blaine for a moment in distant, bitter greeting to answer, and that made Kurt's stomach turn. Blaine was actively trying to ignore his eye contact and doing a bang up job of it.

"I'm not cleaning any of that," Sebastian said to Kurt presently, kicking off his shoes and purposefully, meaningfully, pushing them over to Kurt's Dior rug with his toes. "If your socks get left out there and someone decides that it's a free for all, that's your problem."

"Don't be silly Sebastian," Kurt sang, as Blaine chuckled and made his way towards the door.

"All the ones outside in the hall are your socks."

As Kurt passed Sebastian out the door, Seb's smile fell.

"This isn't over," he said to Kurt's back.

When Blaine turned the corner at the end of the hall, Kurt paused, turning around and snapping, doing a sashay turn as if on the end of a runway, because Sebastian was hanging around outside their doorway, watching them go.

Sebastian definitely still hated that stupid gay face, and like he said, this back and forth was far from over, Kurt would see.

Sebastian was just getting started.


	3. I've Been Drinking About You

If it wasn't already fairly obvious, Sebastian didn't like Kurt much. He knew from the moment Blaine Anderson, former top Warbler, serenading dreamboat and one of Seb's many potential thrushes, said the word "boyfriend" to him that he wasn't going to like Kurt.

To be honest? Sometimes he didn't know why he'd even bothered with Blaine from that point on. Kurt Hummel, that hanger-on with his soft voice, damn perfect skin and devotion to "high" (read: flaming) fashion, was so lame and hilariously predictable as a stereotype that just looking at him, even in photographs, of which Blaine's social media profiles had many, made Sebastian cringe.

He would be the first one to tell you there were many types of gay men in the world—trust him, it was his goal in life to sleep with most, if not all of them—but one of the types he always steered clear from, without fail, were the ones like Kurt. The musical theater and Gaga loving, domestic partnership having, old-fashioned die-hard romantics, who wanted to raise a family with the husbands of their dreams in picket-fenced, rosy, mediocre suburbs.

He didn't care how intimidating Kurt tried to come off, or how "risqué" it had been for Kurt to lose his sacred virginity to the only boy who had ever loved him, and surely the only one who would ever be able to stand listening to his shrill rants and harpings. Every time Sebastian ran into Kurt senior year, at the Lima Bean or in Blaine's arms at an event they both unfortunately happened to attend, he found him boring and weepy to death.

His existence as a gay male, and his immature obsession with "true love," was tiresome.

Unless, of course, Sebastian decided to have some fun with it. Above all, Sebastian loved fun. Last fall, once it become clear to him that Blaine was into the whole loving relationship thing, Sebastian cared much less about trying to get into Blaine's pants and much more about pressing jealous boyfriend Kurt's buttons. Whenever he ran into the two of them at the Lima Bean in Westerville, when he decided to frequent some New Directions performances with the rest of Blaine's Warbler friends, he sincerely enjoyed the way that Kurt's distaste for him was blatantly and embarrassingly tangible. Kurt made it a point to glare at Sebastian, whisper and finger-wave at his best friend Tina Cohen-Chang, with one of those haughty little eye rolls he wielded as a signature.

It was compelling to watch Kurt realize that he'd found someone he had to keep up with in Sebastian, even after Blaine was completely out of Sebastian's question. That was how Sebastian knew: Kurt didn't care about the Blaine of it all. He cared about the game. He cared about winning. He cared about proving to Sebastian that he could keep Blaine's sweet ass and still come out on top as the "better gay."

And Sebastian did like that. He liked knowing that, without even trying hard, by just existing he got under Kurt Hummel's skin. He bothered Kurt. He won.

Them becoming roommates was completely coincidental, but Sebastian saw it as an opportunity when it came: a chance for him to continue trolling the steadfast, stubborn reason he didn't get to bang Blaine Anderson, after months of recess. What unexpected luck!

When he did those little things—the ill-timed socks on the doorknob, the dirty clothes on the floor, and the admittance that yes, he was watching gay porn on his laptop—it was funny to watch Kurt scramble for a bout of defense.

While he made it appear, at the start of their year, that he and Kurt used to have and still have nothing in common, there was this: they were both stuck an hour away from their hometowns together. Ohio State hadn't been Sebastian's first choice either, not even his tenth or a hundredth, honestly. Preferably he'd wanted to study abroad, as in out-of-the-country abroad. He'd been in France as recently as last summer, and his desire to live there permanently someday was just about as active as his sex life. Very, very. There were reasons, however, that he couldn't travel there or anywhere that wasn't local to his parents' vast expanse of Ohioan estate, for a while; reasons that he liked not to get into, like, with anybody ever.

His similarities with his roommate probably started and ended there, though; Sebastian was a pretty damn good singer, ask any of the Warblers at Dalton, where he crash-landed and cleaned ship his senior year, but he wasn't into musicals, for real, like Kurt was. Not at all, in fact. None of his long term career goals involved him being a performer, he was an International Business major. Sebastian took up vocal lessons when he was young and carried out with them through high school simply to be able to add singing/serenading to his list of many talents. And, yes, he'd have you know, there were many. The list consisted of things like excelling at academics (he'd had a flawless A average and perfect attendance since seventh grade), lacrosse, baseball, soccer, water polo, stunts, poetry, pole vaulting, crushing at beer pong championships and tying cherry stems into knots with his tongue. Plus, his personal favorites: bribing and blow jobs.

Sebastian Smythe just wanted to be known as a well rounded man, that was all. Not known for the fact that yes, he also fucked men, but for the fact that his work ethic, despite being raised an almost-millionaire, was superior. So far, he thought was succeeding at life.

Needed a little bit of something to knock him down.

The GLBTSA held a mixer for the freshmen and transfers that Friday night. Kurt stood with with Rachel, a few other freshman girls, and a boy by the name of Chandler, each of whom all chirped and argued about who the best Elpheba on Broadway was, since it was currently making its tour. Other than giving his two cents (okay, a thousand bucks) about Idina Menzel, he was zoned out on the conversation, his eyes were fixated on Sebastian's tall, intrusive figure moving about in the room. When Kurt saw him here, when he arrived, he felt like throwing himself off a cliff. Okay, or just walking out and going back upstairs, considering this attempt at socializing without a critical audience a bust. He stayed, but almost the whole night, he couldn't keep his eyes off Sebastian, watching him, suspicious. Which one of these guys was he going to gimmick into a facade of intimacy this time?

It annoyed him that Sebastian looked so comfortable and at ease here, so seemingly charming (if only they knew) with his stories from his transatlantic vacation this summer, his knack for conversation, and that face; oh, Kurt hated him, but objectively, Sebastian just naturally had the kind of face that movie stars paid thousands for.

This event was supposed to be Kurt's thing, tonight, Sebastian didn't even like public gay pop culture, he'd said it himself to Kurt just the day before. This was supposed to be the thing about going to such a huge state school, far from the little Lima cul-de-sac where he grew up: even if he did know a classmate or three here by name, the odds of him seeing them unless he wanted to were supposed to be zero.

Every time Sebastian caught him watching him he darted his gaze over, smiled, winked. Kurt rolled his eyes or turned his back, and when Rachel asked him, "What's your roommate doing here? I thought you said he wasn't into gay culture," he replied,

"I think Sebastian's only into anything that gets on other people's nerves. Like mine."

Sebastian had very little agenda at the mixer besides that he hoped (and would turn out to be right) that it might get him laid at some point in the future. After exchanging a few numbers, thinking he might try that junior from the men's volleyball team later on this evening, Sebastian left the mixer, relatively early.

Once he was out of the room, Kurt felt a bit more relaxed, like he could unclench. However, there was the fact that this Chandler boy was a bit too friendly, and eager. He was sweet, dorky-cute and the horn-rimmed glasses were really a nice touch, and he shared Kurt's intense love of Patti Lupone's musicals for some reason. When he asked for Kurt's number just before he had to leave, the thought of giving it to him crossed Kurt's mind, as friends—but he knew that having "friends," especially flirty ones, in a relationship, was complicated. Said that he'd just see him around instead.

"Aw, well. If you insist. By the way, may I just say, your eyes are just spectacular. Like diamonds and emeralds and everything sparkling and good in this world."

"Uh, thanks?"

Kurt almost wanted to laugh off and debate the compliment, but he realized that was because he had never really been in a place where other people—other men—would find him attractive. At McKinley he was considered about as physically appealing and date-able as one of those wrinkly, plastic troll dolls. Except, of course, to Blaine, but Blaine was from another school. Clearly there was something in the water of the out-of-towners, and Kurt had always considered himself lucky to have kept the eye of someone as classically good-looking (and dare he say straight-acting?) as Blaine for so long.

Kurt tried to stay in as amicable of spirits as he could until he felt it appropriate to leave the mixer, drained from the social interaction. At around midnight, when he got to the room, he found all the lights off save for the one on Sebastian's desk. Sebastian was shirtless, etching something into a leather-bound notebook, his back on Kurt.

Kurt said nothing as he let down his satchel and began to unzip his coat, get rid of his many, many layers and suspenders, among things. He stayed quiet and eyed Sebastian suspiciously every couple of seconds, wondering why he hadn't so much as even glanced in Kurt's direction, hurled an insult at his clothing choices today yet.

Then, all of a sudden, he heard a slight groan and movement coming from Sebastian's mattress.

There was suddenly a dark-haired boy in it that Kurt must've missed the first glance over, covered up to the shoulders in Sebastian's sheets. When he turned over onto his back, eyes still closed, Kurt almost jumped a little; he realized that his hair was curly like Blaine's, and in the dark, he almost resembled Blaine, and that made his heart sink fast.

He knew that that wasn't his boyfriend, but still, it'd scared him. The thought of finding Blaine in bed with Sebastian was no stranger to the back of his mind.

Now, as he continued to change clothes, he thought about the fact that he couldn't imagine sleeping with someone random, someone who wasn't Blaine. He couldn't imagine being so intimate, so weak, and so up in arms in front of someone foreign, someone he didn't trust. Kurt changed into his silk pajamas and went to down the hall to do his facial routine. Came back, ready for bed, and nothing about the way the room looked had changed.

Kurt sighed loud and weary enough for Sebastian to turn around and look at him. Enough for the boy in bed to start to stir awake.

"Do you really need the light on?" Kurt said.

Sebastian looked first at the digital clock on his desk, as if to imply that it was early, and then back at Kurt.

"I'll turn it off when I'm done," he said shortly.

Kurt made a dissatisfied face and crawled into bed, facing towards the wall and covering his eyes with a silk mask. Yes the mask made it dark even with the light on, but not pitch dark, he liked things a certain way and why shouldn't he get to have them sometimes?

And now that he was in bed, he wasn't tired. That was usually how sleep went these days. It got very cold in this room at night so Kurt bundled himself in his down comforter extra tight, just lying there. Nothing beat the feeling of Blaine's arms around him to keep him warm, as he slept. He so sorely missed the days when Blaine was by his side nightly, and he might've missed even more, the days he used to be able to fall asleep alone. Those seemed far away days, now. Now, he was used to things, so used to the feel of Blaine's bed. Sometimes it could take hours for him to drift off, when he wasn't there.

Or maybe it was the irritating knowledge that presently, in this ill-conceived room, the light was still on behind him just wasting, or maybe it was the persistent, nagging distrust of ever allowing Sebastian to be awake in the room while he wasn't. He hadn't tried putting Kurt's hands in warm water or drawing on his face or anything (yet), but regardless, Kurt found himself tossing and turning, the faint sound of pages turning behind him putting him needlessly on edge.

Just when he felt himself starting to doze off, after god knows how long, he heard a voice come from Sebastian's bed.

"Hey. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. I think I'm just gonna go."

Kurt heard Sebastian stand up from his chair.

"You don't have to drive tonight, if you don't want." Kurt tried not to notice but Sebastian's voice sounded—different, when he said that. No snark, less bite. "Really, I don't mind you staying here."

The next silence dragged on for what felt like minutes. This was so horrifically awkward, Kurt waited restless, anxious for the boy to respond like he was living through a soap opera. What was it like, being with and trying to make sense of a creature like Sebastian?

"Look," the boy finally said, lowering his voice a little. "I know that you're not just,you know. With me."

Kurt could hear the smile in Sebastian's voice. "Yes, and I told you that from the start."

"I'm not—" The boy sighed. "I'm sorry, but I'm just not into this kind of thing, with how many other people you're seeing. You're a cool guy, and you're really, really great in bed, but it's been, like, two whole months, and I feel like I still don't even know you. Hell, I don't even know your last name."

"Smythe."

"I don't feel comfortable. Staying here."

Kurt heard Sebastian take a few steps.

"And I feel like I c-can't even—" the boy's voice faltered— "talk. When you're in the room."

Sebastian's tone dipped low, somewhere wicked. "You sure have a lot to say when my cock is inside you."

Kurt almost let an offended gasp slip. How was he allowed to just say things like that to people?

"A-ah, well—"

"You knew what you were getting yourself into the moment we met. In the bathroom, at Scandals, me making you scream into my hands over that mouth. Or did you forget. If you'd like, my friend here and I can remind you."

"I know, I know I came off like this is what I wanted, but I changed my mind, alright?"

It was silent again. Uncomfortably so.

"I see you, Sebastian, and I feel you. But I don't know you. And I can't keep sleeping with someone I don't know."

Kurt heard a zipper, keys jingling, and then soft steps towards the door. It opened, it closed, and Kurt couldn't help it: he opened his eyes and inhaled and exhaled, as if in some kind of relief.

Certainly loud enough for Sebastian to hear.

"Have fun eavesdropping, gay face?"

Shit.

Kurt turned onto his other side slowly, pushing the mask off his eyes blinking rapidly, attempting to appear as if he'd just woken up. Probably failing miserably. Sebastian had his arms crossed, staring at him from his side, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Kurt decided he was too sluggish for confrontation, cut his losses where he could.

"Goodnight, Sebastian," Kurt said, his heart thumping wildly. He turned his back once more.

Sebastian said nothing, turned the desk light off, shrouding the two of them in darkness.

Kurt waited until he heard the ruffling of sheets in Sebastian's bed before he even attempted to relax, and try sleeping, again.

The next morning, Kurt woke up way before his roommate, relieved for the temporary lonesomeness that brought. After his long, relaxed shower he gathered his things for a trip to the library, phoning Blaine as he walked through the breezy campus.

"Do you know anything about Sebastian's parents?" Kurt said.

Blaine hesitated on the other line."Uh, no, I don't, actually Why do you ask? Is something going on with him again?"

"No, no," Kurt answered, light. He smiled at a girl he recognized from class and waved, changing his grip on his phone to his other hand. "I was just wondering what kind of humans could possibly raise such demon spawn. God, it's just sometimes, when he talks, I think, what would his mother say? Does he even have one? I mean if I knew that my son was going off to college only to become a world class, well, a world class porn star I don't think I'd let him out of my friggin' sight."

Blaine laughed, somewhat genuine, but not so comfortable. "Gee, Kurt, wanna bash the guy anymore?"

"Oh c'mon, you love bashing him with me." Well, he did sometimes. "You should have heard him last night, Blaine, I caught him in the middle of a break up talk that was much less 'break up' than it was something out of a bad movie, if you know what I mean."

"Uh?"

"Not so much from the other guy's stance. Poor thing, whoever he was he was just trying to get out of there and Sebastian was trying to hook, line, and sink him with some terrible, low down talk about dive bar bathroom stalls—"

"Wait," Blaine interrupted, "are you listening to his phone calls?"

"It happened while I was in the room! In person! And then he put on this conceited bravado after it was over and asked me 'why I was eavesdropping.' But if he didn't want me to listen, why didn't he just take it into the hall? They weren't exactly being discreet, and I couldn't sleep. It was like he was having the fight there on purpose."

Blaine sighed. "It sounds like he was looking for attention," he suggested.

"His entire life is a cry for attention."

He was almost at the library doors now, which meant he had to go; the last time he'd tried to walk in phone-in-hand, he'd gotten hateful stares from stressed out upperclassmen researchers, foreign exchange students, and underpaid, overworked, matronly librarians. He wasn't good at whispering, especially with gossip.

"I have to go," Kurt said to his boyfriend. "Library calls. Still really, really worried about these first exams."

"You're gonna do fine, baby. You've got this. You've been studying like crazy."

"I know, I got this." Kurt smiled and sighed. "Thank you. I love you. Talk to you."

"Love you too."

It was true, he had been studying a lot this week. Turns out his homework load at McKinley had been laughably low and light compared to that of sixteen units at a four-year. He hadn't felt this stressed out since his auxiliary stint at the accelerated Dalton Academy, for all of nine weeks. He wasn't saying public schools were inherently lesser-than, but his hadn't done him quite all the favors he'd needed it to.

One night he almost pulled an all-nighter studying for his bio and pre-calc exams—he'd been kicked out of the room because of the sock rule anyway, so instead of bothering with going back and forth, he just stayed there. He even felt compelled to turn off his cellphone for most of that time, so that he could focus.

Once the math and sciences tests were past, the second half of the week had Kurt gearing up to perform his first number, and oral exam, as a theater major. In his Introduction to Musical Performance and Production class, every student was going to be auditioning for that fall's musical, Urinetown. They didn't have to land a role or even sing, necessarily, but Kurt, who'd marathon-ed this musical on YouTube for months straight some years back, had a small shred of confidence he could land a part, even just as a background singer. It was small, though, very small. He was so much younger than everyone else.

His classmates all had assigned dates and times to audition for their professor and the senior student directors of the show. He managed to get a time slot that was the exact same as Rachel's, so they were there, and Kurt was seriously trying not to hate her for her talent, for how recklessly she killed Barbara Streissand's "My Man" to audition, and later become the second understudy for, the female leading role of Hope Cladwell. She was totally overbearing sometimes, and her dresses were terrible, but holy hell, could she sing.

When Kurt entered the room, he curtsied to the panel of judges.

"My name is Kurt Hummel, and I'll be auditioning for the role of Little Sally. While this character is traditionally played by a woman, I believe my androgynous visages and lightning quick wit would me a unique choice for the part. I'll be singing 'Popular,' from Wicked."

"Great." His professor seemed impressed, if only for the one-point-five seconds he ever seemed to get of her attention. "Let's hear what you've got."

Unfortunately for Kurt, the song that started blaring from the speakers was not the homemade CD he'd given the volunteer deejay backstage forty minutes ago. It was, instead, "I Just Had Sex" by the Lonely Island. Kurt was mortified, face searing and he hoped that by standing there jabbing his hand back and forth in front of his throat, the volunteer deejay and panel would realize this was not his intention or the statement he wanted to be making, not at all.

The music stopped after almost a minute.

"Is that all you'll be performing?" said his professor, chuckling.

"I'm sorry, just—" he began to skipping to the off-sides of the stage, "there appears to be a slight mix-up with my music, just slight, you understand. But I will fix this, I promise you."

He marched up to the volunteer deejay, who had his headphones on watching YouTube on his phone.

"Hey." He snapped his fingers in the short, stubby upperclassman's face. "Hello? Earth to disk jockey? What the hell? Where's the CD I gave you?"

"Oh, that? Your boyfriend came and said you gave me the wrong one. Something about you were tired this morning, weren't thinking straight." He gave Kurt's outfit a once over. "I'll say."

Fucking Sebastian.

And then, Sebastian was there, after it ended. It ended, by the way, after Kurt ran back on stage to offer to let them stream the song with an aux cord and his phone. His professor just smiled sympathetically.

"The point of the assignment wasn't to land a role," she said. "It was to get up on stage and make a statement, show your personality. You certainly did. I thought it was kind of funny. Thanks."

Sebastian was outside in the hallway as Kurt walked out of the auditorium, leaned up against the wall, texting casually.

"What is your problem?" Kurt yelled at him.

Sebastian shrugged, held up his hands.

"Don't blame me. Blame the dense kid handling the audio for this shindig. He's the one who decided to trust me when I said I was your boyfriend."

"Yeah, about that," Kurt practically seethed. "I would never date you, you're a terrible person."

"If it'll help things, I'll fess up to your teacher," Sebastian said. "But, not now. I have to go, I'm up."

"You're auditioning for Urinetown?"

"Yes. Now you understand. Why I had to nail my competition."

"Hey! Did you find out about your test grades?"

Days later Kurt had his cellphone pressed close to his hot cheek, listening to Blaine's cheery voice and staring daggers into the back of Sebastian's head, from where he sat, watchful and alert, on his bed.

"Yes," Kurt sighed to Blaine. "My theater professor somehow had mercy on me and gave me a C," and Sebastian's audition wasn't successful either apparently, so there was that, "but my math professor wasn't so accommodating. I had no idea I was supposed to be paying attention in algebra three. No matter what I wrote down, that sweet old lady Mrs. Filikins gave me 'happy face' and 'rainbow' as my grades. At least I got an A in biology. Somehow."

Sebastian was currently clad in boxers, hair still wet from the shower, arms and shoulders slicked up with some kind of oily balm, for massages and muscle aches. Kurt resented him and his cut body, which he would never have no matter how many times he worked out, for numerous reasons right now, but the first on his mind at the moment was that thing that happened earlier. Sebastian and Kurt had showered simultaneously that morning, not on purpose, in the big, floor-shared bathroom that had each shower head separated with a mere flimsy curtain.

It wasn't that uncommon to be in there at the same time as someone else on the floor—about thirty guys had to split four stalls—but up until that morning, Kurt had always timed it right enough to never be there the same time as Seb. Being naked around him? Too much vulnerability, unsafe.

This morning Kurt woke up late for pre-calc, had no choice, and knew exactly what he'd heard Sebastian doing. That first tight, exasperated groan, followed by another, then another, more tuneful and frustrated.

Kurt just about wanted to die when his own dick began to perk up because of it. Not because it was him, god, sick, but because it was just that time of the morning, he was groggy and sheepish and anything, probably—anything, clearly—would've gotten him going at that hour.

"I'm sorry it didn't all go the way you planned it to, Kurt." Kurt felt terrible, dozing off on his boyfriend like this. "But I mean, you're just getting your foot in the door. You're a freshman, you know? You have your grunt work now, and it'll be hard, but there are still four more years to improve your scores. And, plenty of other musicals."

That was true, but Kurt knew he wasn't cut out to be a career singer, professional. Even as he still majored in theater in college, in blind hopes of one day possibly owning his own stage, even as Mr. Schue and others told him he could really make it, if he tried, and quite possibly changed the way he looked—through all of this the logical and sensible part of him knew he wasn't ever going to live his starlit, childhood dream, of being in basically-drag on stage in front of thousands. All of high school he was in a troupe, anyway. Being a star meant flying solo.

That didn't mean he couldn't still love the music, and still sing on his down time. But he wondered, sometimes, how long his love would last.

"You're quiet," said Blaine.

"It's just," Kurt started. "I don't know."

Sebastian was completely ignoring him now, but yesterday, Sebastian's interruption to their FaceTime conversation had occurred when Blaine brought up a certain Spanish teacher. That of course, Sebastian and Blaine had both had at Dalton. Kurt knew Blaine hadn't done it ill-willed or on purpose, but for at least five minutes he had talked right back at Sebastian amicably, laughing and recalling as Sebastian knelt far too close next to Kurt's bed.

Blaine didn't always enjoy the interruptions. Most times he gave Kurt a little "wow, this guy" eye roll after Sebastian had slipped from the camera's eye. But still, that wasn't really Kurt's problem. Kurt's big problem was that he was supposed to be going away to college to escape, relax and have time to discover himself, and what he loved. Growing up as an only child, he'd always had his own room, always had a place to go to when he just wanted to sulk, or cry about getting called 'fag' or 'cocksucker' by boys at school.

But now, he couldn't unwind in his own room if this other person came around, without feeling embarrassed about his feelings. Sure he could drive home to Lima an hour and half each way, to his dad's house, if he needed. But his parents didn't have the money to support him taking all those trips. It was enough they could even pay half of his tuition.

Even when Sebastian was making it clear he wasn't listening to Kurt, Kurt didn't want him in the room at all as he talked to Blaine late nights, telling him he couldn't sleep without feeling his arms wrapped around him, hearing him tell him how much he loved him. Seb was there when Kurt was feeling tired and stressed from a long school day, coupled with teenage love nostalgia, just wanting to curl up into a ball with his curtains drawn shut, sleep the rest of the day off.

He was there when Kurt became outwardly, vocally, far too frustrated at the sight of Sebastian's fine jeans bundled up on his side of the room, and yes, it was just laundry but sometimes Kurt wanted to look at a clean floor, for once in their miserable shared existence, was that too much to ask?

He was a person, with aches and pains as well as triumphs, and he was supposed to be able to express them in privacy. Sebastian, though? He wasn't like that. Most days he seemed a robot, even after a whole month the boy came off to Kurt as severely emotionally-stifled, about as one dimensional as the day he and Kurt moved in together.

Moved in together—god, did that sound wrong. He'd never imagined the person he'd found trying to pick up Blaine at the Lima Bean last fall, the lanky dirty blonde he'd immediately sized up and hated as Blaine's "competition," was someone he was going to end up living with.

Sebastian wasn't making any friends who stuck around, from what Kurt could tell; as in people on campus that he didn't just speak to in order to sleep with. Sebastian was a lone wolf, levelheaded in control, and perfectly content with himself.

He got away with being a jerk, didn't seem to have repercussions from it. And it wasn't, like, fair.

"Kurt?"

Kurt realized he'd zoned out on Blaine again.

"I'm sorry," he said into the phone, exhaling. "I don't know what's up with me. It's like I can't focus on anything. Not having a very good start to the week, I guess. I know it'll get better, I do. I'm not always this dismal about the future, but—"

Across from him Sebastian was finally putting clothes on. Staring at himself in the mirror on his closet door, stringing damp, gold hair through long, agile fingers.

"I just miss you," Kurt said. "A lot."

"I miss you too, Kurt. A lot."

Kurt closed his eyes, and pictured rose-colored coffee dates with Blaine in matching scarves, hand-written notes and meeting each other at his locker every day.

"Life was easier to deal with when we did it together, in person, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. But we'll be okay, Kurt. This is just, you know. Part of growing up."

By Friday, though, Kurt was feeling rather restless, about his lack of a best friend and support system on campus. This, and the fact that Blaine was going out with Sam and Artie all night, is what found him being dragged to another fraternity sponsored party by Rachel and two other Alliance members he met at the mixer.

The party was off campus this time, thirty minutes away at some warehouse venue, and Kurt was dressed up in dark skintight jeans, knee-high boots, and a crimson scoop-neck sweater, complete with diamond-crusted broaches and chains. Rachel noted, as she let him into her dorm room to pre-game, that he might have overdressed for this, but Kurt didn't dignify that with a response. This sweater was Marc freaking Jacobs, and anyway, at least he wasn't wearing a too-big dress made entirely out of pink plaid, and penny loafers. Actual, unironic penny loafers. Was this a costume party, and was she going as a twelve year old dressed as a grandma?

One of the people joining them, and offering to drive them all there, was Chandler. The beady-eyed boy who'd asked for Kurt's number at the mixer, had appeared a little frustrated at lack of said number ever since. Kurt tried to pretend that the fact he'd turned him down wasn't a point of awkwardness between them, but it was; as Rachel and her other friend threw back vodka shots and argued loudly about music, and he and Chandler watched them, he noticed Chandler watching him more than he did the others. He wondered if he'd ever make a new, platonic male friend he didn't have some kind of weird, sexual energy with.

At eleven they arrived at the strobe-lit club/party, which already sweaty and overcrowded. Their ragtag group waited nearly twenty minutes at the supposedly-ID-checked bar, elbowing other OSU students and then some, until Chandler could buy everyone (including Kurt, who vehemently declined) a round Everclear shots, with his fake.

Judgmentally Kurt watched Chandler, the supposed designated driver, as he took both his and "Kurt's" shots and later on, as Rachel found other friends to combine their group with, tried and failed to get Kurt to get drunk with him. "Come on, just have one shot. For me?" But Kurt explained to Chandler that he didn't like or have to get drunk to feel good about himself. He couldn't deny, though, that sometimes he was thirsty for how being drunk might feel.

He certainly felt extremely lame every time he said no.

Kurt did dance with Rachel and Chandler a little at one point, since dancing did always brighten his mood, and he could use it. But for the most part through all of this, he just felt like going back to his room a half hour drive away. It was too loud to have a real conversation with anyone, so all he was was awkwardly shaking hands with the friends of Rachel's he was meeting (how did she know everybody?), whose names he couldn't even make out. Kurt didn't know Rachel well enough to feel safe and put his guard down here.

Plus, of course, Sebastian was here. Kurt had caught him at the bar earlier, his arm around his next willing victim. For crying out loud, he was seriously everywhere Kurt went.

At about midnight Kurt was teetering on the edge of his patience and boredom, watching as Rachel played beer pong against three random senior boys on the golf team, swirling the virgin Cosmopolitan in his red cup around. He kept feeling like he was being stared at, but it wasn't coming from the most obvious perp, Chandler, who was actively chatting with two girls at the moment. Pretty soon Kurt realized that he could see Sebastian sitting on a couch across the way, next to a short, dark-haired guy (he really had a thing for picking up dudes who looked like Blaine at first glance, it was unsettling). Said guy was just leaving his pursuer, to get another drink, and Sebastian took that moment to notice Kurt, smile and wink.

Kurt rolled his eyes, then swiftly tore them away.

As he stood there hating himself for having any sort of biological reaction to Sebastian Smythe, Chandler came out of nowhere at his side, touching his arm a bit too much for comfort and rambling about something Kurt couldn't understand.

"You did another Everclear shot?" Kurt shouted at him eventually. Chandler's breath smelled like it was two hundred proof. Why oh why hadn't he driven himself here? Chandler grinned and attempted to draw closer to Kurt, but he stumbled far too much, and Kurt backed away.

The next thing he knew Rachel was in his face, taking him by the hand and asking if he wanted to do a "celeb shot" at the pong table.

"Celeb shot?" he repeated as the increasingly incoherent Rachel yanked him, pulled him towards the game. "What is that?"

"Shoot for me! Here!" Rachel placed the sticky white ping pong ball in his soft hand and her partner, one of the seniors, eyed Kurt up and down not-so-expectantly.

And oh, what the hell, Kurt thought. Rachel took his red cup from him and handed it to Chandler so that Kurt would have two free hands. He rolled up his sweater's beautiful sleeves as he glanced up at the two hot but probably douchebaggy straight guys waiting for him to strike across the way. One of them was laughing, the other saying something to the extent of, "The fuck is this guy wearing?"

Kurt felt himself blushing, but his competitive nature motivated him to make this, prove them wrong. Like a hawk he eyed the seven red cups that remained, arched his wrist back, and flicked it mocking the way that he'd seen people play this tomfoolery on TV, at the few parties he'd attended in high school, completely sober. When the ball plopped into the farthest cup back, sloshed beer on the table and tipped over a second cup with it, the people watching the game around booed but mostly cheered for him. To be honest he was more surprised than his opponents clearly were that he'd made it.

Kurt smiled smugly, and curtsied, at the bro-dudes across from him and maybe this wouldn't be so bad, if he could make a sport of this game.

"See that? See? Beginner's luck, beginner's luck!" Rachel was yelling, leaning onto Kurt's shoulder and grinning up against his collarbone. "You should be my partner next time. Has anyone ever told you have magnificent ears?"

Kurt laughed and pat her on the back awkwardly. "No, because all ears look the same." He got out of her hug when he could and then Chandler was before him, offering him his virgin cup back.

Kurt took it and sipped from it absently as Rachel's former partner decided to sub himself out, the bright cranberry juice and bubbles from the triple sec substitute tickling his tongue. He swallowed down about a third of what was left, and when he finished, he still found Sebastian staring at him from the couch, still alone.

Kurt tried to ignore it; it made his stomach turn, being the object of Sebastian's attention.

Meanwhile Sebastian, on the couch, finally forced his eyes away from Kurt and mulled over what he'd just caught. That freakish beanie-d kid who'd taken Kurt's cup—Chandelier or something, wasn't it?—had just slipped a distinctive little pill inside the liquid, then handed it back to Kurt. Even from yards away, Sebastian had instantly recognized it as Ambien, the most common roofie for this area. He'd just watched as Kurt sucked half of said roofie down the long expanse of his throat, along with what he thought was just cran-juice and melted ice.

And, well, what was Sebastian going to do about it? He wasn't supposed to be giving a damn about Kurt Hummel's wellbeing, he was supposed to be at this party to scope out and challenge one of these new "questioning" college guys.

The guy he'd been with so far, some random who didn't dorm on campus and whose name he was constantly forgetting, presently returned from the bar with two shots of Patron and Sebastian's refill full of Kamikaze. Sebastian gave his "friend" a knowing smile, bringing the rim of the shot glass to his lips, tossing it back-but as the Patron burned, making the edges of his vision all blurred, his body hot, he realized begrudgingly he couldn't stop staring at Kurt.

Sebastian felt on edge waiting for the first signs the drug was working, no doubt tearing itself through Kurt's system as he walked around somewhat drowsy, unaware. This was bad, really bad, and moral conflicts were something Sebastian didn't do well with. He was an extremely selfish person, and in his mind, there was nothing wrong with that. If you weren't watching out for yourself, you got screwed over, in any way the powerful people around you could manage, in his experience.

Self-fulfillment was the eighteen-almost-nineteen year old's prime concern, the name of the game always. If people decided to get hurt or bothered by him not caring about them back, that was their fault. They knew what not to expect from him, as he always started any conversation or relationship off by making his intentions very, very clear.

And that was why he resented, so much right now, this compulsion to keep tabs on his roommate. To toss his intentions aside, put someone before them.

Sebastian pulled the boy at his side up to dance with him suddenly, just so he could "casually" move himself to the side of the room where Kurt was. He could see Kurt was wondering off from his "friends," starting to trip over himself, and the problem for Sebastian now, as much as he'd fucking deny this to his grave, was that he'd been staring at Kurt on purpose, for almost an hour, long before the roofie had even happened. Had he not been watching him, bored with the conversation his current next fuck was trying to fiddle with, had he not been cynical and laughing at the idea of sober princess Kurt having what it took to win a game of beer pong, he wouldn't have even seen the disturbance.

He wouldn't have given guilt this opportunity to cross him.

Sebastian had this random guy, who devastatingly wanted him, pressed up against the wall, his hands around his waist. He could feel how hard this guy was, against his thigh. Telling him in his ear they should "get out of here."

But one more flicker of his eyes towards Kurt, by himself, and Sebastian knew that he couldn't ignore this feeling.

He needed to get rid of it first. Now.

He pulled the strange boy in front of him closer, so they were chest to chest.

"Wait for me here," he demanded, trailing fingers down his lower back, scratching hard. The guy nodded and bit his lip, appearing to fall in line and obey as Sebastian handed him his new full cup of drink, telling him "Babysit this" as he left him.

He weaved in and out of the sweaty dance floor, all the while keeping his eye on his stupid target, who was now sitting alone on the arm of a loveseat, arms squeezed tightly around his stomach. As Sebastian drew close enough to notice details, he found that Kurt's skin was paler than usual, if that was even possible, and that he was sweating and trembling. In a matter of hours, if that, he'd be passed out.

Sebastian pitied the way Kurt's head was buried in his hands, remembered how bad that felt, to be so fucked up you couldn't even stand. Sebastian put his hand on Kurt's shoulder and ran it briefly down the small slope, and to his surprise, Kurt stared up at him directly, through dazed, exhausted eyes, and held his cold-sweating hand over Sebastian's.

Sebastian could tell by the way Kurt's pupils were blown, unable to focus, that the drug had already taken him well under. He was screwed.

"You're not Blaine?" Kurt shut his eyes and keeled forward, reaching his hands out to grab onto Sebastian's shirt for leverage. Sebastian hated to let Kurt's hands touch him below the ribs and at the belt, like this, but he managed. Kurt's slender fingers dug and worked into the fabric of his tee.

"You need to leave." Sebastian had to shout to be heard over the music, staring down at the shiny top of Kurt's luxurious hair.

Kurt shook his head, handsing Sebastian's abs and holding him tighter.

"I don't—" he attempted, shakily, "I don't know what's happening. Why is there lightning, flashing above your head?"

Sebastian looked irritably for the chirpy little Jewish girl he'd seen Kurt running around with.

"Who did you come here with?" he demanded, searching for her name. Instead of answering, Kurt lost even more of his balance and almost slumped entirely off of the couch. Sebastian caught him by both shoulders and propped him back up, as two girls sitting near this sloppy interaction got up, laughed and pointed.

Kurt's eyes opened into Sebastian's again, a hurricane of hazel, blue and green, a storm.

"What are youdoing here?" Kurt said, his words languid.

Sebastian gripped tighter around Kurt's shoulders, as Kurt grew more limp.

"Someone slipped you something."

Kurt didn't seem to understand this; instead he, confused, glanced back and forth at either of Sebastian's hands, probably wondering why they were touching him, like this. But far too out of it to even protest. Maybe in the state he was in, he even—liked them there. The pressure against his skin in the midst of feeling like he was floating in the dark, completely sick.

Sebastian wanted so badly to leave him here, couldn't stand unironically helping this kid. He wanted to take his hands off of the whiny, effeminate show queen who'd once said Sebastian was "a trashy waste of human existence"—Blaine told Sebastian more about Kurt than Sebastian thought Kurt would ever realize—

But now Kurt was staring deep into his eyes, and he wasn't all that sober himself, feeling a lump form rapidly in his throat.

This was the wrong time to realize that Kurt's eyes were sort of thrilling.

"You got drugged," Sebastian said again, louder this time.

Kurt sighed, shaking his head. "It's—I'm not—"

"You need someone to take you back to school."

Sebastian stood up then, letting Kurt halfway-pass-out against him and lean his head up against Sebastian's abdomen. Sebastian let him stay there as little as the image of him did for his perverted mind, as he stood still, searching the venue one last time for the little Jewish girl. He presently found Rachel Berry at the side of a friend who was throwing up violently in a corner. Rachel herself was drunk-crying, trying to avert the attention of the people who were staring.

This party was a hot fucking mess.

The only other reprieve for handling this alone would be for Sebastian to confront the doer Chandler, but he could fight that prick right about now. He didn't need that little street urchin distracting him. Sebastian was despicable and all, with more schmoozing skills than actual character, but even he would never, ever roofie someone. Ever. That was fucking cheating.

He'd deal with a guy like that later—would he? Fuck that, he needed to get his priorities in order—

Sebastian's massive alcohol tolerance, which he'd been polishing since he was twelve, hadn't had enough to make him incompatible with the wheel, so he was going to hate himself, really, for what he was about to do.

And he swore, he would murder Kurt if he threw up in his brand new car.

"Get up."

Sebastian's order came harsher and louder than he'd planned on, and at it, Kurt pressed his lips together and tried to get some leverage, his hands almost comically dragging down so hard on Sebastian's shirt, it was sliding and near-tearing well past his sternum. He was going to fall the second he got anywhere near to being on both feet, so Sebastian, stopping this nonsense, lifted him up by his arms and threw one over his neck, so he could carry Kurt pretty much entirely with his shoulder.

Though Kurt was attempting to make messy, miscalculated steps in time with him, Sebastian was doing the real work of steadily dragging Kurt towards the exit doors of the venue. He hadn't seen the guy he'd been with earlier leave, but could only figure. Now it was Kurt's body to which he was somehow close tonight, too close as Sebastian had a hand gripped tight around Kurt's trim little waist, Kurt's head resting lazy against his collarbone.

"We're going?" Kurt tried to look up at the person who was saving him, but instead, his wet lips gently grazed Sebastian's neck. Sebastian tensed.

"Don't talk," Sebastian groaned, hoisting Kurt up further. "You don't know what's going on and you won't remember a lick of this tomorrow. You don't want to regret anything you might say to me."

Sebastian disregarded the cat calls and whistles from the frat guys at the door as he passed through, eventually graduated to carrying Kurt on his back all the way through the parking lot.

He fished his keys out of his back pocket aimed them at his all-black, push-to-start, eighty thousand dollar car. Seriously, if Kurt hurled, he'd scalp him, maybe turn the hair on his head into a wig—

He spread Kurt down across his back seat, turning him over onto his side being careful not to touch him anywhere that might even remotely be suggestive. Kurt was panting, frowning through shut eyes, beginning to gag a little already.

"What's happening? Why are so many stars out?"

Sebastian didn't bother trying to make sense of Kurt in this state and shut the door, gliding around to the driver's side. Started up the car fast and, as soon as he was able, sped into the night at a hundred mph.

He ignored Kurt's faint groans and moans as his sleek car slid down the empty one way street. They were on a nearly unpaved road way outside of the Ohio State campus area, with very little civilization; no street lights lined them and dead grass stretched out on either side, the half moon in the sky the only light, the only comfort.

Sebastian just really didn't want him to throw up. He'd dump him on the street and he wouldn't come back—

He'd almost made it to a cross street and a ramp onto the freeway but, as fate would have it, his battery started cutting out, died just before he could get there. Fuck. He glared at his charge gage, smacking his hand against the steering wheel and realizing the lever was way below empty.

This was why the fuck Sebastian never did things for people.

Sebastian groaned to himself in his seat, clicked his hazards on, staring at Kurt through the rear view mirror. He'd definitely blame this on Kurt entirely in the morning, and not on the fact that he'd been too impatient, restive to get to that party, to stop at an electric charging station earlier on. It's not like the bumfuck middle of nowhere that was Ohio had that many. Kurt had stopped moving as much, eyes shut and lips parted, so Sebastian got out and opened the door to the back seat, leaning into its opening.

He gave Kurt's vital signs a once over, okay, a thrice over and determined the situation was not 911-worthy, at least yet. More time would be needed to assess just how much he'd been given. It seemed he was already sort of gently hallucinating. He might not puke and just pass out instead, but it wasn't looking likely. He'd blow at least once, twice.

Because the drug obviously hadn't been mixed with any booze though, he could rule out Kurt needing emergency attention from the sometimes lethal mixture of Zolpidem and liquor. He was breathing fine. He just needed to stay calm, and who knew what calling cops might do for the chances of that happening right now.

Seb fished into his phone for a certain contact.

"Sebastian?" The high school senior, Kurt's boyfriend, was sheepish, mumbly-sleepy on the other line. "It's late, you probably shouldn't be calling me. I'm not—interested in, that. A-anymore—"

"Don't bother working up that ego of yours this late about me, Blaine. This is about Kurt."

Blaine hesitated. "Kurt? What's up, did something happen?"

"He's just about passed-out in the back of my car, and I'm done taking care of him."

"Passed out?"

"He got roofied. Do you have a car?"

"I'm sorry, what? How the hell did he get roofied, Seb? Was it you?"

Sebastian looked at Kurt, who was starting to move and make noise in the seat again.

"I didn't even know that the two of you were—hanging out, at this time of night—"

"Do you have a car or don't you? I told you, I'm done taking care of his ass, so either you can come do it, or he's at risk of getting worse. Much worse. I'm not staying up with him all night to make sure he doesn't choke on his puke."

Blaine was silent. Kurt started coughing a little, and Sebastian felt himself growing angrier and angrier.

"M-my dad has my car, it's getting shopped—"

"So you can't come get him."

"N-not unless I stole my dad's keys, but, I'll—see who I can call, to give me a ride to—where even are you, is he oka—"

Sebastian's impatience got the better of him, and he quickly ended the call.

"I feel—ugh—"

Kurt was muttering nonsensically again.

.

"If you have to let it out, crawl yourself out of this open door and do it at my feet." Sebastian was now dialing the toll number for roadside assistance on his parents' insurance line.

"Sebastian?" Kurt said.

Sebastian held the phone to his ear, glared down at his unoffending flower of a nemesis. Kurt was staring blankly at him, upside down.

"Hi. Yeah, I'm out of battery on Olive and Interchange, before the I-15—"

"I think that you're lonely," Kurt said suddenly.

Sebastian frowned. Moved the speaker of his phone from his mouth.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said," Kurt paused, swallowing hard and closing his eyes again, "that I think you're lonely," he repeated. "Mmh, it's so cold." He was still trembling a bit, tugging at the collar of his rose-colored sweater. "I don't feel—"

"An hour?" Sebastian repeated to the phone call. "Are you kidding? For an emergency charge?"

"Where are we? Is Blaine? I want him to be here—"

"No, you don't get it, I don't have an hour."

Sebastian fumed listening to the dispatcher on the other line make up a bunch of bullshit excuses, like it was one in the morning and they were in a part of Ohio their techs "rarely serviced."

"Don't give me that," Sebastian cut the man on the phone off eventually, he'd hardly been listening to his words anyway. "What is this, am I a premium customer here for nothing? Give me someone to talk to, a supervisor or manager or someone who actually matters. I don't care what time it is, sir. Transfer me."

Sebastian stared down at Kurt again, channeling a death stare that he knew Kurt wouldn't interpret.

"This morning," Kurt mumbled now, probably to himself. But then: "Sebastian?"

"What?"

"This morning, in showers, in the sh-hower."

Sebastian, angry as he as, almost felt like laughing at that, and at his memory of this morning. He'd known Kurt was there, and hadn't cared. Hadn't known his prissy roommate liked to listen. So Kurt was the kind of drunk who liked to say things he shouldn't say?

Sebastian stayed quiet in response, waiting to hear what else Kurt might have to say of his rituals.

"Who do you—" Kurt kept holding onto his stomach tighter and tighter, as if trying to keep it from coming off of him. "Who do you even think of? When you, you know? Come?"

Oh, god, that was it. Sebastian let it go, laughed viciously at first from deep-sated amusement, but then it was from—oh, what was this feeling, nervousness? Why on earth was Kurt asking him this?

Though, he supposed, this wasn't exactly Kurt.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you, the drugs are making you incomprenhisible." He'd heard Kurt say it, he just really wanted to hear him say it again. Maybe record it and send it to Blaine. No, that was mean. Yeah, he should.

"I would," Kurt began again, "never, never, ever, think of you."

Sebastian scoffed.

"Good to know."

He rolled his eyes.

The man on the phone came back into his ear telling him that someone from roadside assistance would be there in fifteen. Sebastian didn't bother saying thanks and hung up, grazing his eyes over the lit screen of his phone and realizing he had nine missed calls from Blaine. And counting.

Funny how the tables turned in life, he thought. It used to be Sebastian calling Blaine late at night, going unanswered time and time again.

Sebastian decided, for no real reason, that he liked this, giving Blaine a dose of his own medicine. He slipped his phone carelessly into his pocket and watched as one lone car sped by on the otherwise pitch black expanse all around them. Then he gazed back into his open car door, at Kurt and his stupid, freakishly delicate face.

"I don't understand what's happening to me. Am I dying?"

Sebastian knew the feeling. He didn't like to get into it, but the reason he'd recognized the Ambien was that he'd been slipped it once himself. Kurt still had his eyes closed, still sickly pale and restless, but he clearly had a point:

"Please? I asked a question, about who it is." Kurt managed to continue. "Answer."

Sebastian tried to put Kurt's usage of "please" like that out of his mind, and his pertinent demand, "answer," even further. He considered the question, instead. He realized that he never thought about anything or anyone particular really, lately, when he was got himself off. Maybe a faceless body. But he decided to keep Kurt amused with a load of crap instead.

"You wanna know what I think about? Boobs." Sebastian took his phone back out of his pocket, tossed it up and down in his hand. "I think about boobs."

"Ick." Kurt made a face, gagged a little. Sebastian watched him like a hawk, at that sound.

"But you're gaaaaay," Kurt slurred.

"Doesn't matter," Sebastian replied. "I like what I like."

He would admit this to no one, but as he stood there in the dark, he was, well, scared. He didn't now what to do to make this any better.

"Boobs are weird," Kurt clenched his eyes shut tighter. "They're all flabby, and—milk, comes from—they're just weird, Sebastian, gross."

Sebastian let an anxious laugh break through the bitterness, but that laugh would be very short lived. Kurt was suddenly writhing like he was in pain, and then he was gagging consistently.

"Oh no, you, out of the fucking car—"

Sebastian reached into the back seat and pulled Kurt roughly by his shoulders, sliding him out and clumsily onto his feet as he started to choke up. Sebastian had almost dropped him onto his knees in nearby grass but, before he could, Kurt was already letting it rip. On him. It dripped and soaked onto his pants and in his shoes, and fuck if Sebastian wasn't ready to walk back to the dorms at this point, alone.

Thirteen more minutes before the truck was going to show.

Once Kurt was done, got it all out of his system, he finally passed out completely. Sebastian picked him up off the ground and laid him and his barf-covered sweater back into the seat. There was nothing else he could do, but this. And maybe a trip to the hospital was in order, if Kurt really got worse.

But not before he changed his fucking clothes.

The insurance's truck came shortly, and once he was charged enough to go he sped back to the dorms with a dormant Kurt. He found that the worst of things seemed to be over for him and carried his little body bridle style up the stairs, into their frighteningly too-small room and didn't let him down until he was sideways, breathing, in his bed.

After it was over he practically ripped his soiled clothes off, planned on taking a quick shower and then probably drinking. But first, he decided to call Blaine back.

"He's fine," was all he said when Blaine picked up, after the very first ring.

"Where the fuck are you?" Blaine practically belted it into in his ear, always a songbird, him. "I haven't been able to breathe since you hung up, you seriously think you can just tell a guy his boyfriend was date raped and not expect a fight? Where is Kurt?"

Sebastian sighed.

"Calm down, I just said he's fine. We're both in the dorm, and he's asleep."

"People don't just get roofied and then go to sleep, Sebastian." Actually that's pretty much exactly what they do, he didn't bother saying. "This is serious—"

"Blaine."

All Sebastian had to do was say his name that way, stern and just so, the way he used to. And Blaine shut up.

Sebastian stared at Kurt in his bed, watching the slow rise and fall of the other boy's chest.

"It's two o' clock in the morning," Sebastian said, coolly. "I'm going to bed. If you want to come up here and see him right now, dressed in a candy striper outfit to check his pulse, do it. Nothing's stopping you. Drive, run, walk. Find a way."

Blaine was still silent.

"And if you have nothing else to say to me right now, then, goodnight. Sweet dreams. I'll take your boyfriend to the hospital, if he needs it."

Sebastian didn't wait for an answer and was mildly surprised when another call didn't come, after he hung up. But he knew Blaine had no way to come to the probable, dependable rescue; he had no car, no resources. Nothing but his worries.

Guess the "teenage dream" of a power couple wasn't so dreamy, Sebastian thought.

As he rinsed himself down in hot water, he jerked himself off in quick, angry strokes again, thinking about that faceless body, wishing he hadn't gone out tonight.

Kurt woke up in his bed feeling wretched the next morning. All around there was this awful smell, he was sticky and he couldn't stop trembling, he was still in last night's clothes, and he felt like his body had been drained of everything good.

That was when it hit him. What happened last night? He had no recollection of leaving that stuffy warehouse party, of ever coming home.

"Oh my God."

The last thing he remembered was the beer pong table, the celeb shot and realizing oh well, there went the designated driver, might as well try and have some fun to wait this out, and Rachel screaming and Chandler hanging onto his cup while he played.

Other than that, it was pitch blackness, the dark.

Except, perhaps at sunrise this morning: a voice, and bright lights. Strong arms, lifting him.

Kurt winced and tried to sit up, finding that very hard when every move he made made his guts feel too queasy. The putrid, acrid smell around him was only getting worse, and through hazed vision, he glanced around the room and found Sebastian sitting at his desk, calmly. Shirtless and in glasses, appearing to be writing something in a notebook.

When Sebastian noticed that Kurt was awake, he smiled, wide and foreboding, shut the book.

"Let me guess," his evil roommate beamed. "You're wondering how you got home last night, right?"

Kurt's stomach lurched as he watched Sebastian slowly stand, start walking towards his bed.

"Well, you have me to thank for that," Sebastian said, and that voice made the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stand up. "Out of the kindness of my heart, I drove you, wasted, back from that warehouse and all the way here. Didn't even get so much as a 'thank you, Sebastian' the entire time, or once it was all said and done of course. For someone who's so judgmental all the time, you could really stand to up your manners, Kurt."

Oh, god, not this. Kurt didn't get it. Why was Sebastian so mean?

"I wasn't drunk." Kurt's shook his heavy head, in disbelief. "T-this doesn't make any sense, I didn't have anything to drink last night—"

"The barf stain all over your fancy girl sweater doesn't say the same."

Kurt looked down at himself in disgust to find his latest Marc Jacobs piece completely destroyed.

He shut his eyes, sank back into the bed and tried to placate his nausea and gag reflex as he struggled to pull the still-vomit-crusted sweater up over his head. How much of that party was he there for? What had he done and who talked to him, saw him like that? Had he done this to himself, somehow? Or had someone tried to hurt him?

He so wanted to be home right now, at Burt and Carole's quaint house in east Lima in his old bed from high school, still there. He wanted Blaine, wanted safety and he certainly wanted never to go to another frat party, where apparently you could get fucked up without even remembering. What was in that supposed-virgin Cosmo?

"Thank you, for taking me back." Kurt didn't look Seb in the eye when he said it, can't even to begin to imagine how that must have been for either of them. Trying instead to folding the disgusting sweater while lying on his back, as if that would make it any less disgusting.

"But would you mind, just—please, please, leaving me alone about this? Forever? Seriously, this isn't funny, this isn't a joke."

This not knowing, not remembering anything? It hurt him.

"I can't remember the last ten hours of my life and that would scare most people, maybe even people like you who have endless money and virtually no empathy for any living thing besides themselves. So please, just. Back off me, for once."

Sebastian took a moment to respond.

"Fine." He seemed to be conceding defeat. "But just so you know, you didn't last two seconds after you had that drink. Don't start hemorraging worrying that someone cherry-picked and took advantage of your delicate little body, while you were comatose. I practically babysat you. Lucky for you, I was around."

Kurt was much too sick, and much too tired, to try and contest Sebastian's recollection of the event, to try and have the final word.

Blaine would tell Kurt the story of how he got something slipped to him once Kurt had the energy to reach for his phone on the dresser— after a groggy, hour long, miserable half-nap—and found that Blaine was currently en route—after a confusing two hours spent trying to communicate with Sebastian.

As far as whodunit, there was only one likely, too persistent, too nice culprit, and Kurt swore never to trust another boy, besides his first love, who ever tried to flirt with him, ever. There was always an ulterior motive, always.

No doubt Blaine would soon come to Ohio State on the train, to look after his love. Gratefully, Sebastian was out the whole day.

Sebastian, who found a friend or another to stay with all day, didn't bother mentioning the Ambien or the running out of gas, or the fact that he'd had to throw away his shoes from them getting puked on, to Kurt.

He didn't say a word about the moment Kurt's lips grazed his neck, those tortuous minutes he'd had to put his hands on him, the fact that it made something in him, however slight, ridiculous and reluctant, stir.

Sebastian decided that once Kurt found out what happened exactly for himself, post hospital visit and Blaine's heavy petting, only then he might, just might, tell him his side of the story. The truth was he had stayed up all night for Kurt, checking his breathing periodically whilst sipping on a fifth of Corvoisier. He didn't like Kurt much but he just simply couldn't have it on his conscious, letting the kid die from this sort of freak of an accident.

Dying by some other way, by Sebastian's own hand some day, as payback for this, sure. Until then, he was waiting for Blaine's sleek and shiny gelled self to wander his way in. He finally did at around seven thirty, wearing sweatpants, a duffel on his back, as Kurt slept soundly.

"Good morning." Sebastian tipped his bottle up, cheers-ing him. "You're late. I'd start by taking him to someone who's a doctor. I'd have done it, but I've practically bathed myself in cognac. He has a long day ahead of him."

Blaine looked, and sounded, exhausted. "Who was it?"

"Some loser named Chandler."

For now, Sebastian wanted to grapple with the facts of last night as little as possible. No more frat parties for him for a while, either.


	4. Unholy Matrimony

This is one of the stranger injuries of assault via roofie: the healing process never quite feels complete, because you've been robbed of your ability to narrate and reclaim your experience. Luckily for Kurt, he spent the morning following the incident being doted on hand and foot by Blaine, glad that his boyfriend didn't seem to really be pushing him to try and explain his complicated feelings.

Instead, Blaine took him to the emergency room, where he had to strip down to a robe, get his blood and urine tested. When he claimed to the doctor that he didn't know who did it to him, Blaine looked disparaged for moment, but didn't disagree. Results from the drug test showed it was in fact Ambien, in heavy, non-time-released form. A one or two day recovery was in order, drinking fluids and getting plenty of rest.

As they walked slow, hand-in-hand, back to the parking lot from the hospital, Blaine asked Kurt,

"Have you called your dad?"

"No. I really don't want to worry him. Nor do I want him breaking down any doors at Ohio State, insisting on a dry campus or the disembowelment of the entire Greek system."

Kurt knew he would have to tell his dad eventually, as there was very little he was able to even keep from his very best friend, in the end. Just not now. Now, he needed to not feel like had to run to his parents home in Lima for everything. He needed to pace himself.

As they drove home, Blaine driving Kurt's car, Kurt doubted that Blaine was going to stay quiet about his lack of action plan following his misfortune. When Kurt offhandedly remarked, "I thought I threw away all your sweatpants," Blaine said:

"Baby, I know it's not in your nature to take prisoners and seek revenge, but don't you think this guy deserves it? You could've been hurt, maybe even killed."

"And then what? I go to court for a depressing eight months trying to prove something impossible to prove? You know that the legal system in this country is designed to be a never-ending hamster wheel to run in for victims of rape." Blaine's eyes widened. "Not that he or anyone raped me, I'm just saying. I don't wanna focus on it. There's nothing I can do to change the fact that it happened. Besides, I think I trust—Sebastian—" saying those two words together was really not right, was it—"when he says that nothing happened, and he just took me home."

"Seriously?"

"He leads a deplorable life and looks like every generic villain on Gossip Girl or the sad remake of 90210. But he doesn't exactly lie, besides his gross exaggerations. Maybe he is even capable of a good deed. But probably only one."

When they get back, Kurt is grateful that Sebastian's gone. Blaine began to set the bed up for the sick day Kurt was going to spend in it, and that was when Kurt heard several demure knocks on the door. He opened it to find Rachel standing with a bouquet of flowers and a "Sorry you got roofied" card (how the hell did she find a novelty store that sold those?), apologizing profusely.

"Had I known what he was planning," said Rachel, as Blaine joined Kurt to greet her in the doorway, "I wouldn't for one second have handed him your cup of virgin Cosmo. I'm so sorry, Kurt. I feel like this is my fault."

"No, it wasn't. It's not like you're the serial rapist." He laughed to try to make light of the situation, but neither she or his boyfriend joined in. Well, that was awkward. "You're fine, Rachel, really."

"Obviously Chandler Kiehl is no longer allowed anywhere near the Gay Lesbian Bi and Transgender Student Alliance, and were I a young, lush countertenor with a bright future ahead like yourself, I would be lividly plotting to prosecute Mr. Kiehl on rape charges to the fullest extent of the law, as well as getting him expelled and publicly humiliated. But, anyway." She softened her expression, truly an actress. "I'm going to hug you now, okay?"

Kurt supposed he would allow the gesture. The flowers were Gardenias, after all.

"Thanks, Rachel. But I don't want to press charges. I just want him to stay at least fifty feet away, at all times."

"You know, we could see about getting a restraining order," said Blaine.

"Be sure to let me and the other allies of this campus know if there's anything we can do to make your stay at Ohio state a safer place."

"...Okay."

Sebastian came to the door just then, towering over the three of them in the Shire.

"Excuse me."

Kurt and Blaine said goodbye to Rachel and then re-entered the room as Sebastian started packing what appeared to be a bag to say somewhere over the whole weekend. Kurt and Blaine returned to his bed to watch YouTube with headphones, which they would as a holdover until Sebastian left, but Blaine knocked out five minutes into Friday Night Lights. Kurt, bored with what was clearly Blaine's choice today, looked over as Sebastian spoke rapidfire and frustrated on the phone with someone. Was he speaking French? Kurt didn't take his headphones out as much as he was curious if Sebastian spoke like a native. He never was able to drop his pride enough to just ask Blaine if he had been born there. It's not like it would make him any less terrible.

Kurt kept watching him, until eventually Sebastian started watching him back. Kurt was trying not to let his mind stretch to its wildest imaginings, in lieu of having a memory map to follow about last night. Sure they saw a lot of each other last year, and fancied themselves hypothetical experts on the other, but the two of them were basically strangers. Without Blaine for context, they knew nothing substantial about each other. There was nothing Kurt knew about Sebastian, for example, that would've made him consider going quite as far as Sebastian had gone for him. Sure, he would have driven him back to the dorms, on some level he would look out for any gay man in that situation. But would he have carried him?

Sebastian didn't seem to be angry at him for it either. Since their one conversation in the morning? Just quiet.

Now Sebastian was ending his phone call, picking up his bag and leaving the room abruptly.

For Kurt, the rest of the day was spent messing around with his sweetheart, leaving the dorm with him as little as possible. He and Blaine watched movies and stuffed their faces with pastries, talked about what kinds of schools they wanted their kids to go to. Until finally, late that evening had Blaine's parents calling him every five or ten minutes.

"They know where I've been," Blaine tried to protest to Kurt, who was silently judging him for ignoring yet another call. "They just, you know. Don't want to accept it."

"Go to them. I'm sure Mrs. Anderson just wants to give you a warm glass of milk, sit you down on her sofa and let you tell her about your day."

"We don't actually do that, that was a joke I told once. Mostly we just eat Chinese food in silence."

"And I don't want Mr. Anderson calling my father up accusing me of murdering you. With cuddles."

"The most heavenly way to die."

Blaine kissed him. Long, slow.

"Get out of here," Kurt stopped him. "Or I'm going to pin you to this bed."

"Yes, sir. Is that a promise?"

"Goodbye."

Then Kurt was alone.

He thought Blaine might text him goodnight, even just to tell him he got home on the train safe, but by one a.m., he figured he'd forgotten. And here it was: the trying to fall asleep alone thing again. Only this time, the room was completely empty.

Kurt sat up and realized this was the first time since they'd moved in that Sebastian hadn't come back to sleep in here. Not that Kurt was worried. Even when he got home at three some nights, he at least crashed his head down into the pillow for an hour two before slithering off to whatever his next competitive fix was. His parents did have some grand estate hidden somewhere deep in Westerville, so maybe he was there. Why did Sebastian want to stay in this walk-in closet with Kurt, anyway?

It occurred to him then that Sebastian's parents probably weren't okay with the whole fucking at least a dude every day thing. So state college was where people went to escape the confines of their home lives, but not too far.

Kurt hated this solitude, hated staring up at the asylum-white ceiling of this dorm, because his thoughts always ended up leading him to feel like coming here was the wrong decision. It wasn't just because Sebastian ended up being his roommate, or just because being with Blaine didn't make him feel one hundred percent sure he'd chosen right. Even with a roommate he hadn't known, and the best friend he could possibly he imagine here, Kurt didn't know if this place would feel like home to him.

He may have to change his major to undecided. Maybe he could even transfer to a different school, to New York or Rhode Island where Tina would be staying soon. Try again at getting away another year. It was just the timing of everything last year, that made everything go so wrong; his NYADA application and auditions not being refined enough, because he was too busy practicing and packing and running for senior class president, and fighting to keep his boyfriend, and trying not to miss his mom so much. With so much going on, he'd just gotten overwhelmed, and the only back up school he'd applied to was this one.

He missed the faux business from his senior year, how important it all had seemed, how important singing was. But even if he had had the chance to sing at the audition for Urinetown at this school, just the thought of practicing and having to get used to new egos and directors made him tired. Besides Rachel, he couldn't seem to meet anyone who he didn't only see once a week, or had only met once. And, as pattern had it, the one boy he had been slightly been nice to and tried to maintain contact with so far had drugged him.

Kurt was glad he didn't believe in God, or else he'd think the devil was after him with his luck sometimes. He seriously didn't even want to think about what would've happened if Sebastian hadn't been right where he was at that party. He was an Atheist, but he believed humans were special in that their instincts often led them to significant, critical moments. Something, whatever it was, put Sebastian there in that critical moment, and was that fate? Did that mean he needed to wax philosphical all "if I hadn't gone to this school and that asshole hadn't lived with me, I wouldn't've learned the dangers of underage drinking"? No.

But it gave him a whole lot of questions about who Sebastian was, maybe before all this. Every person was a good person, at some point.

Sunday night, Sebastian returned from an errand plus a long weekend with an old flame of his. On the front of the door he'd found a flyer for an emergency floor meeting happening in just a few minutes.

"You see this?" he asked Kurt.

"Yes, but I'm not going."

"'Attendance is mandatory for all residents,'" Sebastian said. "'And yes, that means you, Kurt.'"

"Does it actually say that?"

Sebastian handed it over.

"I don't know what I did to offend the R.A.," Kurt said, making a face at the flier, "but in the meeting last week he asked me what kind of teenage girl's perfume I wore and accused me of spraying it all over the bathrooms. It's not my fault straight men think their masculinity's being threatened when they don't smell like armpit sweat."

Sebastian glanced over at Kurt's dresser, recognizing the little clear bottle of "unisex" cologne that Kurt sometimes spritzed himself with in the mornings, amongst the plethora of skincare creams.

"Surprisingly enough, that smell's not you," Sebastian commented. "It's that girl who's always sleeping over here."

"Ah, yes, the blonde one. She's dating the short one, the one with all the back-ne."

"I wouldn't call what they're doing 'dating,'" Sebastian said.

The two of them walked into the lobby a few minutes late. The only spots available were next to each other on a too-small loveseat pushed up against the left wall. Sebastian went to it immediately and almost sat, but waited as Kurt hesitated, depreciatively glancing around the floor for a space. Evidently he decided that he didn't want to be near the rest of the boys and men in this room, either, so Sebastian was the slightly lesser of two evils.

The R.A., Taylor, a junior with freakishly skinny legs and long dreadlocks, glanced up from his clipboard at Kurt from where he sat at the front of the room. "Nice of you to show up this time," he said, regarding Kurt's last two purposeful absences.

Sebastian, meanwhile, already bored, took out his phone and reopened his most recent conversation with Blaine.

 _That's good,_ Blaine was texting him. _Nothing much for me. Just struggling with this French homework. Gotta say I commend you for speaking this stuff fluently. Spanish I could handle, but this make me feel like tongue's going to fall out._

Sebastian smiled a bit and flickered his eyes over at Kurt, who was staring down at his own pale hands, pushing back the cuticles on his nails.

 _I did live there,_ Sebastian replied to Blaine. _Is this your lame way of hinting that you need a tutor? I thought your little boyfriend knew French as well._

"Alright," Taylor spoke up, over the voices of the guys who were rambling to each other. "First order of business tonight: the shower stalls. I don't know why I even have to tell you this, but it'd be really cool if you guys, whoever you are, could stop covering the shower heads with condoms in the mornings. Used condoms."

 _Uh, no,_ Blaine messaged. I don't need a tutor. _And yes, Kurt knows some French. But I texted you earlier because I have a question. Not about homework..._

 _Fine,_ Sebastian typed back. _Shoot._

"Second order of business," Taylor resumed. "Some of you have been coming to me with noise complaints, especially lately. You know what kind of noise I'm talking about."

"Some of you need to tell your girls to keep it down, yo," a guy in the corner commented.

"Or your guys," someone else tossed, pointedly staring at Kurt.

Kurt tensed up a bit, and Sebastian knew they probably assumed he was the one making magic happen almost nightly. Sebastian himself wasn't the noise problem though, he prided himself in being nearly silent while he did his work, but he couldn't control how his recipients responded to his dick.

"The majority of the noise complaints—actually, pretty much all of them—have come from the rooms around the end of the hall," Taylor said flipping through a couple papers on his clipboard. "Kurt, Sebastian, I don't know how it works between you guys, or whatever, but consider this is your first formal warning."

Kurt immediately flushed dark red as a couple guys whistled and laughed. Sebastian finally graced the room of his inferiors with a glance up at them from his phone.

"I'm sorry?" Sebastian said.

"If I get more complaints and I end up having to give you a second and a third warning, the housing department will deal with you and trust me, you do not want that. There will be fines."

"Wait." Sebastian chuckled. "You think—he and I—" he pointed at Kurt, "would actually fuck each other."

"Oh, god," Kurt groaned quietly beside him, holding a hand to his head.

"Regardless of who's doing what," Taylor said. "Just keep it down, alright? Some people say they can't sleep at night—"

"You know if you wanted to discuss it with either one of us, you could've just done it in private," said Sebastian. "I'm ninety-nine percent sure, on account of the handy little housing manual that you clearly haven't read, that you discussing any of our personal housing violations in front of other residents without warning is a slight on your back."

"Not when it's an issue that affects the entire floor," Taylor corrected, then he held up his clipboard, which held together his stack of apparent complaints.

"If all of you weren't straining so hard to listen to whatever either Kurt or I was doing in that room, I really don't think it'd be an issue with the entire floor."

Taylor ignored him, flipping through pages on the clipboard. "Anyway, next order of business—"

"That's it, I am never coming to one of these things again," Kurt mumbled next to Sebastian. "I don't care if he writes me up a thousand times."

"If you get written up enough," Sebastian said, "maybe you'll have to move out."

"Dream come true," Kurt answered.

Sebastian skimmed his eyes over the newest text from Blaine, which said,

 _I know it's weird that I'm asking this, but do you and Kurt change in front of each other?_

Sebastian widened his eyes at this. Oh, Blaine and his damn curiosity.

 _Just wondering._

And well, Sebastian changed in front of Kurt all the time, most of the time when it was needless and unnecessary. But Kurt had so far never changed in front of Sebastian. He switched from an undershirt and baggy shorts to pajamas here and there in the room, but the times he had to be naked, he changed in the bathroom down the hall. Sebastian didn't mind this. Kurt's skin was so white, Sebastian was surprised that Kurt wasn't blind from staring in the mirror at himself all the time.

And Kurt did do a lot of standing or sitting in front of the mirror. Adjusting the layers of his clothing, spraying at his flyaway hairs, nicking at the beginnings of a blemish, or otherwise gazing sad and disapprovingly at one thing or another.

 _I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure,_ Sebastian said back, his leg slightly shifting a little closer to Kurt's unconsciously. _Not_ _yet, anyway,_ he added, smiling.

Blaine's response was rapid.

 _What the hell does that mean?_

Sebastian almost laughed audibly. Blaine really was gullible and panicky enough he thought Sebastian ever wanting to see Kurt with minimal clothing on, or maybe nothing on, was even reasonably fucking plausible. Had he not made his point clear, all those times when he insulted Kurt right to Blaine's face?

 _Relax, sweetheart. Your wimpy lover keeps his fabulous, glittery clothes on. Like all the time._

 _I don't understand why you're still so mean to him,_ Blaine was saying then. _If you guys are going to last an entire year, you should be trying to make things easier on each other, not harder._

 _You sound like a marriage counselor._

 _I'm just tired of you giving him crap because of me,_ Blaine responded.

 _Believe it or not, not everything that happens is because of you, Blaine._

Sebastian could just see Blaine's face screwing up at that.

 _I know it isn't. You don't have to talk to me like that, you know._

"Touchy," Sebastian muttered out loud.

Kurt looked over at him, and for a second, Sebastian had almost forgotten that he was there. He was re-aware of Kurt's presence, though, after making the mistake of catching Kurt's eye contact.

Kurt was the first to break their loaded gaze, attempting to shift his leg further in a way that Sebastian wouldn't notice. Sebastian did notice, his eyes gathering the details and shape of Kurt's thigh.

 _Okay, so why ask me if Kurt changes in front of me_. Sebastian was losing his patience exponentially. _Are you really that insecure about your juvenile relationship or do you just have a threesome idea involving us you never told me about?_

Whatever Blaine answered, he decided not to read it.

The next morning, Kurt sat at a desk in an isolated cubicle in the library. Kurt was supposed to be working on his midterm paper for literature and composition, but he was horrendously unmotivated to read fifty year old articles on Robert Frost's poetry.

Instead, Kurt was indulging in a guilty pleasure: Facebook stalking. In addition to it being the way he kept up with Finn, Tina, and Mercedes' daily lives, Facebook was one of Kurt's favorite ways to analyze people without them knowing. Often times he caught himself spending hours clicking, making his way through a hundred of someone's photos purely out of curiosity, his mind's wheels churning.

He usually spent part of those hours stalking Blaine, too, but in that case, he preferred the term "lovingly watching over."

Even though it was probably stalking.

This morning he scanned his eyes down his boyfriend's timeline, mentally approving and gazing admiringly at Blaine's adorable pictures. Especially those ones where his eyes got all crinkled up at the corners. Upon first glance Kurt thought the page hadn't changed much since he checked it last, but then he realized there was a small difference. Blaine changed his profile picture to one of he and Kurt from two years ago, back before either of them knew Sebastian, but all of a sudden now, Sebastian was going and liking it in the present day.

And why did that make Kurt so terribly annoyed right now? Kurt went through the rest of Blaine's photos trying to see which ones Seb had and hadn't liked. Okay, maybe he did get out of hand whenever he started this. Regardless Kurt clicked Sebastian's name, scooted in closer to the screen and turned over his shoulder to guard his surroundings. He and Sebastian weren't Facebook friends—Kurt would never let his pride stoop that low—but Sebastian's page was visible and open to the public, anyway.

This wasn't the first time Kurt flickered though pages upon pages of him, the tagged photos of him kissing random foreign guys on the cheek, sitting half naked in their bathtubs popping champagne. All the "I had fun last night xx"s that had been left by many a gay lover over the last couple of weeks.

His latest default picture, with over three hundred likes, was one of him shirtless on some swanky Cannes beach. Kurt hated how tan and smooth Sebastian's skin got to be, how low he wore his jean shorts, pulled far down past his v-cut and jutting hip bones.

Kurt didn't notice it at first, but after ten minutes, he realized he was frowning so hard he might give himself crease lines.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the library, Sebastian had his fresh hot coffee and was reviewing flagged chapters for his microeconomics test. He'd been reading for almost an hour, absorbing information at some times and completely spacing out at it at others, so he took a break started screwing around on his laptop.

On Facebook, Sebastian was messaging Blaine. At that point he was bored of the conversation, but he supposed it was his fault for starting it a half hour ago. Sebastian was about to go offline suddenly in protest, but then Blaine typed something that kept him for just a moment longer.

You're the one who just liked a picture of Kurt and me *kissing* anyway.

If you think our relationship is so stupid, what was that all about?

Sebastian answered,

People take this site way too seriously.

then went back to the picture in question. He'd liked it solely for the purpose of gaining this kind of paranoid reaction from the couple. While he was more looking forward to the hissy fit that'd come from Kurt instead of Blaine, he'd take it from either one of them, honestly. He just wanted them to know that he was right about them: the reason they were so obsessed with each other's whereabouts was because they had a blatant lack of trust in each other.

Kurt always made a photo look so jarring, those bright eyes and that silk skin and the sharp corners of his bone structure. He read Kurt and Blaine's little comments back and forth to each other in the captions-the "I'll never forget this day with you"s and the "you make my heart so happy"s—and then clicked on Kurt's profile link. The page was private, as usual. All Sebastian could see were a few details and a profile picture of Kurt, wearing an elaborate navy kilt over a black lace sweater, apparently pieces he'd designed and sewn himself entirely.

Sebastian decided to pack up in his cubicle, then, to go back to the room. At the same time, Kurt was on the other side of the building, gathering his books and laptop to go to his third and final class of the day.

They both left their cubicle areas and turned the corner into the main lobby at the same time; Kurt was texting Blaine on his phone with one hand and holding his notebook-filled satchel with the other, and Sebastian was holding his coffee with one hands on his phone too, letting his newest "friend" on Grindr know that he'd be "on his way in ten minutes."

Neither of them saw the other approaching as they crossed the lobby floor, so all of a sudden Kurt was crashing into a tall, rigid body, stumbling onto the ground and losing the majority of the contents of his bag, hot coffee spilling and splashing the front of his light blue shirt.

Kurt flung his eyes up at who he'd just run into, as Sebastian stared down at Kurt, all embarrassed and pissed off with a brown stain seeping into the thin fabric stretched across his chest.

The urgent guilt Sebastian felt was too much, too strong, and Kurt flushed with rage, his mouth hanging open as he watched Sebastian descend down the nearest staircase, leaving him alone with the people that stared at him.

Okay, so Sebastian had felt like shit for that one.

He didn't mean to make people suffer, when he was having an off day. He did it before he could stop himself sometimes, the mean just kept flowing out of him like the ocean from an unsecured dam. There used to be a joy in it, but lately? It kind of just made him hate himself.

Perhaps his instincts and the fight in him kicked into gear so quickly these days because they wanted to him to start something exciting. Sebastian had felt like things in his life were growing stagnant and lackluster. His classes were too easy, he'd been to all the bars and places worth going to in this state, and this did happen to him from time to time; every once in a while, for a bad week or a bad month, he'd hit a dry spell, maybe wish that things in his life were different.

But if something in Sebastian's life were to change, he wouldn't know what he'd want it to be, or in what way he'd want it to change.

Sebastian got back to the room that afternoon after a "lunch date" that had pleasantly-surprisingly turned into him getting road head, and Kurt was sitting at his desk and had changed his outfit entirely, now wearing some long trailing sweater with off-center buttons and a giant scoop neck.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder, made startling eye contact with him.

"You are so lucky that the coffee stain on the shirt I based off of DKNY's 2007 spring collection is starting to come out in the wash."

This kid was so extraordinarily particular. He made it impossible not to laugh.

"Seriously, I know that you hate me and my fantastic, genderless, original clothes, but what you did back there was just a low blow," Kurt continued. "You could have at least apologized, or tried to help me up, or something."

Sebastian studied Kurt silently for a moment. Stared at those eyes. Hated how clear and intruding they were.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian said, short.

Kurt looked shocked to those words from him.

Sebastian didn't hate Kurt, not now that he was starting to get a look at him up close. He hated the things Kurt said to and about him, sure, and it sort of freaked him out, the way he inhabited this weird aesthetic space that was split-exactly-down-the-middle between masculine and feminine, hard and soft. The dangerously open and vulnerable way he presented himself to the world at large notwithstanding, Kurt was smart, smarter than quicker than most people Sebastian'd ever met. Even if he wasn't using those smarts for anything other than fashion and gross elaborate displays to impress his kiddie boyfriend.

Kurt tried to make it look like Sebastian was the only bully between the two of them, but he watched the way Kurt's eye worked, the way he analyzed people and had their logic and life story all figured out by the time they'd even said hello to him.

That Thursday, there was a karaoke themed fundraising event put on by the Japanese Culture Club; sake and other types of alcohol were being served, so that drew a majority of the school's population in that night. The tiled room was crowded, and the stage was constantly full of tipsy students screeching into the microphones.

Kurt wasn't necessarily surprised when, a half hour after he and Rachel got there with half hearted plans to sing together, Sebastian and his "guest" for the evening showed up to the event. Kurt was sitting at a stool at the main bar next to Rachel, swirling his straw around in his water cup.

"Yes?" Kurt prompted when Rachel started clamoring for his forearm.

"Your roommate's here," she informed him, taking a small sip of sake an older guy had bought for her.

Kurt sighed. "I know. He's always here. He's everywhere, all the time."

"Have you talked to him about Friday night yet?"

"No," he replied. "There's nothing for us to talk about."

"Okay, as much as you don't wanna admit it, it was really heroic of him to carry you out of that place while you were passed out. Arlena was throwing up on my feet at the time, but I saw you two. He had his arms around you all close and everything, Kurt."

Kurt snorted, shaking his head.

"If he hates you so much, why does he always just happen to be at the same events as you?" Rachel said, grinning. "And why is he always, like, craning his neck everywhere you go to stare at you like you're fine?"

Kurt gave her his best 'you're-delusional' look. "He does not stare at me."

Rachel waggled her finger over Kurt's shoulder. "He's doing it right now."

Kurt turned around and found that, unfortunately, she was right. Sebastian was still with that guy drinking from his Sake cup, but his eyes were focused on Kurt. He glanced away in annoyance just as Sebastian's friend was trying to get his attention to tell him something.

"It's like he's here waiting for you to need saving again," Rachel said. "I wouldn't mind. Though I have to say, I see what you mean now about his face sort of looking of lemur's."

"No, he's here because this is a big school, and this is a public place. And he's looking at me like that because he knows how much I hate him. And I have Blaine."

"And Blaine's cute," Rachel said. "But Sebastian's hot. I don't know, maybe you guys could have a threesome."

"What would you know about threesomes, miss straight-laced?"

"N-nothing, I'm just saying, there's obvious chemistry between the two of you."

"Yeah, two chemicals that explode."

"I'm not an advocate for cheating, and you and Blaine are going to have the most talented kids in all the land once they figure out how to make a fetus in a lab with two men." She'd really been taking the phone away from Kurt too often to talk to Blaine about his fathering dreams. "All I'm saying is that it's healthy to acknowledge your attraction to another person, that's all, just acknowledge. And then just let it exist for what it is."

Rachel gulped down the last of her sake as Kurt texted I miss you, how was your day today? to Blaine, and then Rachel was gripping his arm tightly.

"Oh my god, he's coming over here."

"Oh my god, shoot me."

"Hey, Rachel," Sebastian said. "Looking fantastic as always." Kurt didn't turn around, duly noting fact that that was so clearly a schmooze move, Sebastian never remembered Rachel's name until now apparently, hardly recognized her prior to this. "Kurt."

"What do you want, Sebastian?"

"This isn't about what I want."

Kurt twisted to find Sebastian in a tight, black v-neck shirt that clung to his chest and left far too little to the imagination. He was standing next to a blonde, shorter than him, who had dimples and a very chiseled chin, but clearly got dressed in the dark this morning.

"My friend here, wanted to meet you," Sebastian prompted. "Adam, this is Kurt."

The man smiled crookedly, held out his hand. Kurt blinked back in disbelief at him. Rachel tried not to giggle.

"I'll leave you two," Sebastian said now. He turned to Rachel, turning up the wattage on his smarmy smile. "I hear you're a theater major—if you need a karaoke partner for the night, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Rachel seemed far too thrilled. "Only if you let me sing lead."

"You can sing whatever you want to me."

"How do you feel about Barbara Streissand? I have several and by several I mean all of her classics in my repertoire—"

Rachel began to chat Sebastian's ear off as they strolled in the direction of the stage, and Kurt felt a flicker of panic when Adam sat on the stool next to him, giving him eyes.

This had to be some kind of joke or something.

"So, can I buy you a drink, Kurt?" Kurt did a double take at the man's very sexy posh British accent. "I suppose we're supposed to be ordering sake."

But Kurt knew accepting a random drink from a stranger like this was like, an open invitation into getting roofied again probably. He figured the bad luck associated with his near accident was had to be snowballing up exponentially, just waiting for release again.

"If this is some kind of prank, or something Sebastian put you up to, I'm not interested." Kurt noticed the stubble on the man's face, the tan line around his ring finger, how much older he seemed. "Even if it wasn't, I'm not sure I would be. I'm sorry."

"How old are you?" Adam said now.

"Eighteen."

Adam smiled. "Sebastian wouldn't tell me."

"I'm sure." Kurt poked his straw around in his cup anxiously, grateful for the little light that went off on his phone, showing Blaine had texted him back.

My day was so shitty. Can explain later. Miss you too, baby. What are you up to?

"He's certainly a handful," Adam was saying now. Kurt glanced over at him, half feigning interest while texting Blaine back, and noticed Adam's gaze trying to subtly graze his legs. "He said you two were roommates. If so, I commend your patience and your heart."

Kurt finished his text to Blaine and then said to Adam, somewhat sincerely, "I appreciate that."

Adam laughed a little, and damn objectively he was kind of sneaky dad hot. Kurt was really, really blushing now, and he just wanted to know what in the world had Sebastian done to convince this guy to hit on him as a ruse.

"So how do—you two know each other?" Kurt tried.

"We met in a bar, after my, uh. My divorce." Adan chuckled. "I see him every once in a while. What we have is— open, if you know what I mean."

Kurt made a face.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," Adam continued, looking into Kurt's eyes. "And I am older than you, by a few too many years I reckon. But. Sebastian pointed you out to me, and I though that you were just gorgeous."

Kurt almost dropped his phone on the ground.

"Gorgeous?"

"You sound surprised."

"Oh, I am. Sebastian didn't tell you that I have a boyfriend then, either, did he?"

"That he did. Sometimes you younger men have a—wishy washy idea of commitment." He then backpedaled. "Not that I don't think it isn't admirable, what you're doing, and I hope it works out for the best. It's just. I thought I might try my luck."

"Yes, well, there's no luck to be had. I'm happily soon-to-be-married, once we graduate and I've found a job stable enough to afford us a loft in Manhattan."

"That's alright, then." The man winked, taking the loss. "See you, Kurt."

Kurt's heart was racing a million miles an hour. Okay so he was British and older, and maybe if Kurt hadn't been so rude, the two of them could've been-friends? But anyone Sebastian spent the night with regularly had to be a terrible person.

Kurt stood up and marched around looking for Sebastian, found him standing up against the wall in the main karaoke room, texting while Rachel belted "Dancing Queen" up ahead on stage right. Kurt walked up to him and snapped his fingers in front of his roommate's view of his phone.

"Seriously? What could your angle possibly have been there?"

"Can't say I know what you're talking about."

"Your 'friend' trying to hit on me, buy me a drink? Not only does he look like he has kids somewhere, not even he knows where, he was wearing courderoy pants. Courderoy."

"When he asked for an introduction to you I told him I hated the idea, actually. Turns out he likes his boys prepubescent, and creepy-doll-faced."

"Okay, you know what?" Oh Kurt had finally had it. "Sending a random creep-o to hit on me while you know I'm still with Blaine, and after I narrowly avoided abduction by a random creep-o last weekend, is one of the least creative things you've come up with to get under my skin, even more so than the dick and the monocle you drew in permanent marker on my three hundred dollar mirror. But I'm tired of you constantly picking on me. It's bad enough that we have to dance with each other in the room all day. Why do you have to be on me like this?"

"I want you to look at what you're doing right now."

All of a sudden, Kurt realized: Sebastian was very, very close to him. Kurt was definitely flustered, visibly so, but not going to back down. Standing his ground.

"You're cornering me at a public event," said Sebastian.

"You cornered me at the bar!"

"I spoke calmly and politely. You're raising your voice and snapping your little manicured fingers in my face." His smile was just devastating, wasn't it? "Just admit it, Kurt. This thing between us, is mutual."

"What 'thing'?"

"And your outfit looks like it was picked out by a blind eight year old ballerina."

"Fine." Kurt nearly grunted, tearing gaze up from Sebastian's chest. "From now on, you don't exist. Maybe in the past I've insulted you right back, but this is no longer worth my energy or my time. From now on, I'm the bigger person. Screw you."

Kurt practically stormed back up to his room.

"You want my advice?" Blaine said, as they talked an hour later. "I've been dealing with this guy for a while now, and trust me, all Sebastian loves is an audience. All those times he tried to talk dirty to me online, when we first met? I'd just act like it never happened, and the next time I saw him he'd act that way too. It's a pride thing. If you ignore him, eventually he just goes away."

"Yeah, after about five months." Kurt shifted on the bed a little. He was always going to be uncomfortable with the five months Seb was relentless with Blaine, and the fact that he'd never know just how many of those calls had Blaine had answered. Yes, he'd ignored most of them, but Kurt wasn't stupid. He could see that over the course of their terrible interaction, a friendship had occurred and advanced along the way. Blaine talked to him enough that they had each other's numbers, and even a few "Dalton" inside jokes Kurt didn't get, and Kurt had been a student there, too. Kurt hated the fact that he'd never know just what was said between them. Maybe that made him insecure, or maybe that made him a jealous boyfriend, but there was something about it all that he just couldn't let go of yet.

"Besides, this is different," Kurt said to Blaine now. "Sebastian was all over you because he liked you. Sebastian is all over me, because—I don't know, he likes giving me crap or something."

"Kurt," Blaine said. "Remember what you always told me? And what I told you, on the day we first met? Refuse to be bullied. If he gives you crap, don't take it."

"But that's what I've been doing," Kurt replied. "I confront him, I stand up to him, and at this point he might not even actually be doing anything wrong, and I just snap at him and lose control of myself because...the room is just too small, and he has a self-destructive world view and we'll just have to fight the administration to get out of there, if we can't end up making things work."

Blaine sighed.

"And for the record, that advice that you gave me about Karofsky wound up making things a hell of a lot worse, just in case you've forgotten."

"Wow. Come on, are you really gonna go there?"

"Sorry."

Kurt started over.

"I don't want to fight. I just feel like. A walking target, sometimes, y'know?"

"I know."

"...Can we meet halfway again tonight? The Breadstix in Eastvale has two for one pastas."

Meanwhile, Sebastian was in Adam's bathroom at his apartment in Springston. He turned on the sink, splashed his face with cold water, then gave himself a somber once over in the mirror.

He walked back into Adam's humid bedroom with a towel around his waist, expecting to find his shirt, jeans, and underwear still carelessly discarded on the floor where he'd left them in his mad rush to fuck this guy. But, upon searching for them, he found the clothes folded, neatly, in a pile on the bed.

Oh god, he wasn't going to have to end things, wasn't he.

Once he was dressed again, Sebastian went into the main room, which had an adjacent kitchen. The television was on, and Adam was at the stove cooking chicken.

"So, is this the part where you disappear? Or will you stay and eat something? If you do ever eat. I swear you've lost about thirty pounds since we met."

Sebastian sighed, feeling his back pocket for his wallet and his phone.

"Not hungry," he said offhanded.

"If you ever are, you know where to find me."

Sebastian didn't reply on his way out.

On the drive back to school, Sebastian turned the radio on to some conservative talk station he didn't even like, flicked the heat on so his hair would dry faster. He'd be in a better mood if Adam hadn't started in on his "you leave always after you get the sex" spiel. The men like him never got it; Sebastian never wanted to feel like anyone was catering to him, trying to give him things he hadn't earned or asked for. People did that to bait you, to stack up favors and paybacks that you'll eventually have to owe them in the future.

Back at the dorm, he lie in bed with his most recent conversation with Blaine open, again. He was re-reading the messages from this afternoon and trying to determine if Blaine just legitimately didn't trust Kurt, or if he was doing something Sebastian knew all too well about: deflecting.

Earlier on, the always eager to please Blaine texted Sebastian something to the extent of: Does Kurt get hit on by guys all the time? What made Chandler want to do that to him? What if I'm not hot enough for him anymore? I still love him so much and Sebastian had wished that he was having the luxury of watching Blaine say that all to him in person. He got so visibly pent up over his concerns, especially about Kurt, so frowny and emotional, it just made you want to slap him. He once told Seb he liked to be slapped across the face, so it was okay for Sebastian to think that.

Sebastian replied to Blaine saying Kurt was practically whipped and would never dream of stepping out on him, and that was the truth so far as he could tell. Even if the kid had filled out a little since high school, and was clearly too avant garde and weird for Lima, but knew how to use his spectacular edge to his advantage here. He didn't add that last part on, of course. Blaine hadn't appreciated his usage of the word whipped.

I don't like that term. I'm in love with him and he's in love with me.

Sebastian had ignored that, and Blaine had gone on to ask if Sebastian could keep an eye on Kurt for him.

I trust him, but I really miss him sometimes, and I'm worried about him with all this Chandler business. That's all.

He really didn't understand these two. They were seventeen and eighteen, they'd only known each other for, what, two years? They couldn't actually be in love.

Sebastian didn't think that because he was jealous, though that was an irritatingly common misconception about "guys like him," guys who made fun of couples all the time and stayed intentionally single. Sebastian didn't wish he was in a relationship, "wish he was Kurt" or anything deep and existential like that.

So Sebastian told Blaine that he'd test Kurt's trust if he wanted him to. Said he had a "friend" Kurt might find objectively pleasing in another universe, and Blaine didn't even seem to mind the idea. He was curious as to how Kurt would react.

Sebastian didn't actually go back and check to see if Kurt had gone for Adam. He knew that while Kurt would certainly let his eye wander, he would instantly turn Adam down. If not for the age difference and divorce, and the fact that he was associated with Sebastian by any degree, then for the fact that Adam new next to nothing about how to dress, and Kurt was quick as hell to catch onto that.

Sebastian hated himself for knowing that. Wondered why Blaine didn't know that.

Sebastian sunk his head back into his pillow now, thinking about how this round of sexual favors hadn't gone so well. One in every fifteen encounters, he speculated, went badly for him. It happened. Shit happened. Adam was getting old to him; the gays usually did faster than the others. Sebastian wasn't more into "straight" and bicurious men as a hard rule, and personally he was one hundred percent gay himself, but he liked what he liked because of the forbidden aspect of it.

Instead of staying at Adam's tonight like he had last weekend, Seb decided to switched it up, hit up his Blaine look-alike to see if there was something to reheat. He was a little surprised the boy agreed so quickly, to come to Sebastian's room tonight to "talk."

Sebastian was getting a hell of a lot more than talking. He thought he had the room to himself, it was date night for Kurt, so he had the Blaine look-alike right where he wanted him, on his knees sucking him dry. But just when Sebastian felt himself getting close, there was a jingling and the other side of the door, a click, a swift turn, and then Kurt.

"Oh my god."

Sebastian saw Kurt's eyes, wide and horrified, and a glimpse of Kurt's cheeks turning a violent shade of red, before he heard a squeak and the sound of the door slamming shut.

Sebastian groaned when the boy beneath him popped his mouth from around him, began frantically wiping his lips.

"W-who was that?"

"My roommate, obviously. Keep going, he won't come back—"

"Jesus! Don't you have that—that sock on the doorknob thing?"

Sebastian sighed. He'd forgotten about that already.

"He'll wait. I don't want to be done until you're screaming for me again."

"Sebastian."

The boy looked conflicted, at the promise in Sebastian's voice and the fact that Sebastian was still pulsing and hard in front of him, but then he didn't seem to be in the mood anymore. He was pink with embarrassment, probably that some other guy had just seen him spread-eagled.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I shouldn't have come."

Sebastian tried not to say it.

"At least you did."

Meanwhile Kurt was standing out in the hallway, his back pressed against the wall, breathing heavy. He so did not need to see Sebastian like that, fisting his hand into some boy's hair—a boy that looked like Blaine, Kurt might add—his head lulled back and his cock inside of someone else's mouth.

Kurt wanted to determine, when his roommate opened up, whether or not the sock had been left off on purpose, because if it was, he was full on going to take some kind of legal action on Sebastian, for public indecency, whatever he could manage.

When Sebastian finally did open the door, and his boy toy slithered out, he actually had the decency to look significantly embarrassed.

"I don't want to hear you make any crude jokes about this, and we're just going to pretend that it never, and I mean never happened," said Kurt, harshly. "Got it?"

"You broke your silence treatment," Sebastian said. "Knew you wouldn't last long."

Kurt wanted to kill him.

Gratefully Sebastian seemed too embarrassed to stay in the room with Kurt, and packed another bag to go away the rest of the weekend.

Sunday morning, Kurt had just woken up, still sleepy and groggy, when Sebastian walked back in wearing a crisp white shirt, black tie, tight slacks and a suit jacket thrown over his shoulder. Church clothes. As if this demon spawn actually attended church.

Seb was ruffling through a duffle bag, coins and keys jingling. When he saw Kurt looking at him in bed, he went on the offensive:

"Are those pajamas you're wearing, or did you skin the week old road kill your lumberjack daddy brought home on his way from Woodstock in 1968?"

"This is a sleepwear rendition of the mink romper Naomi Campbell wore in Ibiza at Vera Wang's charity gala last summer. Well, inspired by." He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You look like you're dressed for your own funeral."

"I've decided to enter the grave early. Living here with your cabbage patch face is the unbearable alternative."

"Go to hell," Kurt said whimsically.

"I'll see you there."

"Nice comeback, but I don't actually believe in it. Hell."

"What do you mean you 'don't believe in hell'?"

Kurt stared at him deadpan, getting ready to make quick work of him, obviously. "As in I don't believe in God, or any other superior mythical forces that definitely may not be. Don't tell me you do."

"Of course I do."

Sebastian's phone was ringing just then.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I can't—I can't find it."

Sebastian had stopped looking for whatever it was, sighing and leaning against his desk.

"Seriously?"

Now he appeared to be getting bad news, or possibly being yelled at.

"Look, alright, fine. There's a chapel here at school."

Kurt almost flung his eyes wide open. Did he just say chapel?

"As far as I know they don't have services running, but I'll just. Sit there. And I'll pray."

Kurt could not believe this.

"You've said it yourself, it doesn't matter where I go, just as long as I go," Sebastian said. "You wanna know if I'm really there? I'll record myself for you, how's that for devotion. 'For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.'"

Scripture. He just quoted scripture. Kurt had heard that line before, from Mercedes.

"Myself," Sebastian replied, to some kind of question on the phone. "And God."

No.

"Why would I do that? If I wasn't going, I'd just say I wasn't going." No. Way. "Yes, I'm going, right now, sir, and I'll just—I'll see you guys, next week. Have a good sermon."

Sebastian hung up the phone and Kurt waited until the door closed again before literally flinging himself out of bed, watching the ground from his window like a hawk moving in to eat its prey.

Sebastian Smythe, evilest of all evildoers, was apparently also capriciously religious.

Kurt stared out his window at Sebastian walking by himself through the quad with a book in his hands—had to be a Bible—towards the west end of campus. He reached a jittery hand to his cell phone and scrolled down his contacts, attempting to find someone to share this with and realizing that no one would find it as shocking as he currently did. Blaine was tired of his Sebastian-related ranting, Tina didn't have enough context—he was really going to have so much to tell her at their loosely scheduled hangout next week—so instead he just kept watching vigilantly, until Sebastian was almost out of sight.

"He can't be serious," he said out loud to himself. If no one would laugh with him, he'd have a hell of a time with this moment by himself. "This guy is incredible."

Still a bit delirious from just having woken up, Kurt changed into slightly more modest attire (sweatpants, a pair of Blaine's old ones from Dalton, and one of Finn's McKinley Football sweaters) and the closest shoes he could find (his fuzzy purple slippers), and walked quickly to the bathroom to fix himself up enough. Once he was done he nearly ran out of the dorm, grateful for no one being outside this early on a Sunday, and stopped before the nearest campus directory.

He located the chapel on the map, walked quickly towards it, careful for any onlookers or Sebastian himself, finding none as he completed his journey. The chapel was in a near-deserted back corner of Ohio State's campus, and closed, from what Kurt could tell from the signs on the door. A new chapel was being built on a different part of campus, and this one was soon to be constructed to become something else.

He got on his tippy-toes to glance through the window on the doors, which let him have a total view of the entire, small, one-room chapel. The stage was hollow, the floorboards having been lifted, and half of the stain glass windows at the front of the building were covered in some kind of tarp. There were about ten rows of pews on each side a carpeted aisle, and Sebastian, who Kurt could only see the back of right now, was at the end of a pew in the second row.

On his knees.

"This is like, hands down, the creepiest thing I've ever witnessed."

He wasn't sure in that moment if he was referring to himself or Sebastian. Maybe Rachel was right, maybe he should stop, take a moment, accept the fact that he was fascinated by Sebastian and yes, unfortunately attracted to him physically only, and try and make peace with it.

No, that'd never happen.

He didn't know how long he stood there for watching, and he didn't know what he was waiting for. Maybe for the moment that Sebastian would give up and find his efforts useless, or for the moment that he'd wake up suddenly and find this a hilarious dream. Or for, the worst yet, the moment Sebastian's hook-up of the day was going to meet him here, for the ultimate middle finger to the Man Upstairs.

He didn't have to wait for anything much longer. As he moved his hand from the surface of the door to scratch an itch on his face, on its way down it thwacked the already-loose metal doorknob. When it landed with a loud clunk! on the pavement, Kurt, who was so sleepy, yelped a little as he'd thought it was going to crush his toes.

Kurt froze then, his mind bouncing frantically between picking up the doorknob and trying to fix it, and running, running fast because there was no way that Sebastian hadn't heard that, and if Sebastian found out that Kurt stalked him here he'd never hear the end of it—

But it was too late for him to decide anything, because Sebastian was at the door in just seconds, opening it and wearing the most interesting expression that Kurt had ever seen on his face.

"What are you doing?"

"I-I—uh—"

Sebastian glanced down at Kurt's attire, clearly finding it amusing that for the first time ever, he was looking at Kurt in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Both of which belonged to other guys.

"Nevermind," Sebastian said, staring up into Kurt's eyes again. Kurt still kept his mouth shut, trying to decipher the look in Sebastian's eyes and having no luck whatsoever.

"Were you planning on coming in, or were you just going to stand here?"

"I'll just—I'll go. I think."

But Kurt didn't move.

"I'm sorry, I just have so many questions," Kurt began. "You, a Christian?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"Or is this just the place you go to to murder the sex workers whose lives and self-esteems you've no doubt permanently ruined."

"Come inside," Sebastian said.

Kurt wasn't expecting that. And still, he couldn't move.

"Or don't. Whatever."

Sebastian was about to close the door, but for some reason Kurt's hand lept out to catch it. Sebastian ignored him and walked back to his pew, as Kurt followed after him very, very slowly. He had no idea what he was doing, but this—Sebastian, and a chapel, and Sebastian, and a Bible—was far too much of something that felt like payback to Sebastian, for this entire week, for him to pass up.

Sebastian had the Bible back out before him and was reading it silently. Kurt came closer and stared around the dusty room. He hadn't been to church in almost there years, and before that, it'd been ten years. Sebastian glanced up at him for a moment, then scooted over, as if there wasn't ample space enough for Kurt to sit. If Kurt wasn't still so surprised, he would've laughed as he sat down, settling uncomfortably onto the hard wooden surface.

What was he doing right now?"

"So, um. You're—um—"

"A Christian," Sebastian finished for him. Kurt stared over at Sebastian's hands, watching as one of his fingers worked a worn corner of the book.

"And your dad is a pastor."

"He's also a retired neurosurgeon. No one ever seems to care about that part." He was very pointedly not looking at Kurt right now. "And you, then?"

"Obviously I'm an Atheist."

Sebastian smiled, shook his head.

"I don't understand how anyone can be an Atheist."

"Well, the fact that people like you exist certainly rests my case."

Kurt tried not to be one of those Atheists who made pious people feel stupid for their beliefs. He was all for people finding their own ways to have courage and hope in this life. But he had very little to no mercy for the kinds of people whose moral codes were excuses for them to be exclusive assholes. Plus, to him most churches were too wishy-washy to make clear statement on gay people. They beat around the bush, said they "loved the sinner not the sin," but for Kurt, halfway commitment to the cause wasn't good enough. Gay people were still dying and being extradited because of who they were, and only an unwavering, completely tolerant allegiance to them by the religious majority would help them.

"But you're gay," Kurt said to Sebastian, again.

"Yes."

"So aren't you considered to be the worst of the worst, to your people?"

"Some churches are actually accepting these days. My congregation, my parents' friends, they all know that I'm out, how I spend my time. Some people don't stick around the place because of that. We don't need them, we get funding from a plethora of avenues anyway. Every other week, they have a special prayer night for me. But it's really not as big a deal as people make it."

"How can you sit in a room full of people that hate you, and just let them hate you?"

Sebastian didn't answer.

"I don't believe you," Kurt said. "I don't believe any of this."

"That's fine. I didn't ask you to."

Kurt was more confused about his reactions to this moment than he thought he'd been about anything in a while. All of the other gay and lesbian people he'd ever met—granted there were only really three of them—felt the exact same way about this as he did. About the conservative, religious political right as he perceived it in Ohio, being the reason that boys like Karofsky hated themselves so much, they pinned strange boys against walls and force-kissed them, being the reason Kurt had been bruised and tossed around by men so much older than him his entire life, men who were being fed a toxic, outdated ideology from churches that claimed to be all about love, but actually fostered strict and yes, deadly gender roles, that got women pregnant and having back alley abortions, and men killing each other so they wouldn't seem "gay."

He thought about Sebastian, his disregard for his health, the socks on the doorknob, foul language and foul everything, and the only word kicking him in the brain over and over was hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite.

"One of my best friends," Kurt muttered now, surprising himself even by speaking, "is a Christian. Mercedes."

Sebastian didn't look up. "I thought your best friend was miss Tina Blowin' Wang."

"I know you think that it's hilarious to call her that, but it's actually demeaning and racist."

"You're right. It's Sunday, and as you can see, on Sunday I spend my days basking in shame about the fucked up names I've come up with for people over the years. I'm trying to change."

Kurt couldn't tell how much of that was sarcastic. He stared at his roommate like he had three heads.

"Anyway, people can see that Mercedes is a Christian," Kurt went on. "That's what the whole thing is supposed to be about, isn't it? If you're going to have a personal health care ritual incongruent with medical advancements and you know, science, at least you can do what the good book says and treat the people around you with kindness and respect. Mercedes abstains from sex because she doesn't want to have the power to hurt another person. When she does curse, it's minor and about no one in particular. She even says, 'Lord, forgive me,' right before she does it, and I could just—hate what you people do, and how the elite in your system treat everyone who's even the least bit different from them like crumbs that should be swept off the earth, but at least Mercedes tries to live the small portion of the Bible she preaches."

Kurt shook his head, not sure why he suddenly felt like crying. Maybe all of this reminded him of the time when his dad was sick and dying, and Mercedes and Quinn and Finn and everyone around him was telling him that prayer could one hundred percent cure his dad. When really, his dad could kick the can at any moment, only time would tell when he'd wake up from his coma, and medicine, medicine he knew they couldn't afford, was going to be the only life-giving force in their corner after that.

In his experience, many Christians meant well, but they lied to themselves, and in the process to many other vulnerable people.

"If you," Kurt said to Sebastian, accusingly, "were to ever tell me anything, about how I should be living my life, for example, I think I might throw up. Or die. Or both."

"That's not dramatic at all."

Sebastian was finally looking him in the eye again.

"Clearly you've been hurt by someone who likes to sit in an old building and meditate for an hour or two, tops, about once a week. All I can say is that God's kept me going through some of the worst moments of my life. If it wasn't for my faith, what I learned in church as a kid, I would've died more times than I can count."

Kurt wasn't expecting him to be so honest.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Sebastian said.

Kurt woke up at the question. He realized how early it was, pondered the circumstances of them being here, in their lives. They were alone, in this haunted, ethereal, abandoned building, and what Sebastian just said was actually kind of heart trending, and also, his no doubt expensive cologne smelled really heavenly, made everything about this moment all the more mesmerizing and disorienting.

"No," Kurt said, looking away. "This is not what I thought I'd be doing when I woke up this morning. I'm half asleep, and quite possibly dreaming. I'm really going now."

Kurt stood up and tugged at the sleeves of his sweatshirt. suddenly re-aware of the fact that he was in a sweatshirt in public, eagerly in need of a shower.

Later on that night, when the two were finally in the room together again, Sebastian made it a point to set the record straight.

"I was decently surprised," Sebastian said in greeting, "when I got to the parking lot of the shopping center this afternoon, and you weren't chasing after my car in your boyfriend's cum stained sweats and those fabulous slippers."

"I thought you said Sundays were your day to try and change."

"It's midnight. Also, have you considered the world of opportunity that a tanning booth could offer you? I'm just saying, you look like you were soaked in bleach and then locked in a basement for several dark years."

"Honestly, why do you do this? Do you expect me to laugh along with you at some point? Because you're really, really not funny."

"The truth is, Kurt, you can dish it out, but you can't take it. Just a few days ago you said I was a disgrace to the gay community because I was encouraging the re-emergence of the AIDS disease."

Sebastian knew he took it too far sometimes, but he wondered, if he backed off, if Kurt even would at this point. He couldn't seem to convince Kurt that there really was nothing happening with Blaine and him anymore, from his perspective. What was happening with Kurt now, as a matter of fact, was not ideal, but was at least much more thought-provoking than things with Blaine had ever been.

"At my primary school, in France," Sebastian said to him, perhaps by way of apology, now, "I got made fun of for being really tall, and really skinny."

Kurt just stared at him, no doubt wondering how that was relevant.

"They used to call me haricot vert," Sebastian added.

"String bean?" Kurt repeated incredulously. "That is barely an insult. Is this you trying to relate my history of being gay bashed with a charming, empty narrative about how tortured you were?"

"No," Sebastian said plainly. "It isn't."

Kurt looked to be growing tired of this conversation. But:

"Someone said something to you once that you still haven't got over, didn't they? Maybe for you it wasn't the—haricot vert nonsense. But it was something."

Sebastian didn't like to get into it, but he was staying in Ohio because his father, who yes, also pastored the New Horizons church two times a week, was sick and might only have a few months to a year to live. His mother had been trying to prepare him, she was big on the grieving process and rituals. But Sebastian just hated to be a stereotype about it. His father hated him anyway, said a lot of things to Sebastian that sure, he probably hadn't gotten over. Sebastian was just lucky the man had even let him into his house again for his senior year.

When his dad found out about him being gay his freshman year, he'd sent him to a boarding school in Europe, extremely expensive and prestigious. But Sebastian had hated it there. He knew he hadn't been banished there to further his education, it was a way for his father to show everyone around him the order in his world, to make an example of the people who were ungrateful of his time, who refused to be perfect.

Sure Sebastian had gone out into the world with money, his sophomore and junior years. But he'd suffered being on his own that young, a regular prodigal son. Sebastian didn't like to look back to those years, because they were when he became worldly, realized he didn't have to give a fuck about what his father or anyone else wanted him to be like. He was going to be himself and alone in that, clearly.

Sebastian left the room then, too miffed by the events of the day to stay indoors and try to sleep, and came back just Kurt was coming in from a shower. Only the desk light was on and a thin white towel covered his waist, and he'd jumped and tensed a little when he saw Sebastian come in.

It looked like he'd just been about to drop the towel. Sebastian said nothing to him and walked towards his closet, kicking his shoes off and changing with ease.

Kurt, meanwhile, as Sebastian could see from the peeks he was taking at him, had strategically draped the towel over his shoulders and was carefully trying to slip his his black underwear on, digging his toes through the leg holes, trying hard not to lose his balance.

Finally, when he had them on, Kurt let the towel down and stood half naked in the light. For what might've been the only moment that Sebastian might see it, he took in Kurt's thick, clean hair, his elongated neck, his back free of marks and blemishes save for a tattoo in cursive under his shoulder blade. There was another in script at the small of his back. Seb's eyes grazed past Kurt's ass in tight briefs and paused for a moment on his legs, on beautiful muscles and visible veins, then let his eyes fall defeatedly to the backs of Kurt's heels.

Sebastian thought about Blaine then, wondered again why Blaine had really asked if Kurt had ever changed in front of him before.


	5. The Brightest Green

It started when Blaine showed up at Kurt and Sebastian's door, unannounced, late one Wednesday night in mid October.

Just before, Kurt and Sebastian had been in the middle of a petty argument. This time it was because Sebastian insisted on sorting his dirty clothes all over the floor, the way Kurt did when __he__ did laundry, which included the middle of Kurt's Dior rug, which was supposed to just be on Kurt's half.

"It's in the middle of the floor, that's not technically half," Sebastian was saying.

"Yes, but it's a decoration for the entire room, and __I__ own it, so that makes it my half."

"That doesn't even make any sense. It's not like I asked you to put it there."

"You don't have any taste, so of course you wouldn't've put it there."

"Fine, what would you prefer that I do, then? Sort my laundry in front of the door?"

"Why do you even have to do it on the floor? Can't you use your bed for anything other than fucking?"

Sebastian was about to move the rug over with his foot, but Kurt made a high-pitched noise.

"Please, just leave it there."

Kurt's rug was one of the many things Seb was realizing Kurt had mild OCD about. If it wasn't __exactly__ lined up with orientation of the walls, he stood over it fastidiously, nudging and obsessing until it lie perfect. Seb had also noticed the way that Kurt turned the lock on the door three times every time, touched every shoe on his rack with his right pointer finger every time he retrieved a pair.

Kurt had just been saying, up close to Sebastian's face, "If you don't move them, I will, and you won't ever see them ever again," and Sebastian had just deadpanned, "What a threat," before loud, abrasive knocks cut them off.

They looked at each other questioningly, then Kurt went to the door.

That was when he saw Blaine standing before him, duffle bag over his shoulder, Dalton hoodie pulled over his head.

Kurt's eyes flew open in shock.

"Blaine?" He looked down at the nonexistent wristwatch he'd taken off moments ago, by habit. "What are you doing here? It's late, is everything okay?"

Sebastian glanced up, raised a brow at Blaine in the doorway.

Blaine kissed Kurt's cheek, let himself inside the room.

"Everything's great."

He went to put his duffle bag down on the floor, then realized that the floor was covered in clothes.

Kurt's heart was racing a million miles an hour, trying to recall having made plans with him tonight, then he remembered it was Wednesday, and wait, Blaine had school tomorrow. Why was he-

"You usually call first," Kurt said to him, smiling as Blaine turned in a half circle, surveying the contents of Kurt's adorned wall. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I finally got my car fixed tonight," Blaine said, "so, I wanted to surprise you."

"I'm surprised."

Kurt knew his boyfriend, ever the (dare he say neurotic?) perfectionist, wasn't one for veering from his weekday routine. The two of them scheduled everything from good morning texts and make outs to movie times and when they would coordinate outfits. Whenever Blaine suddenly deviated? It probably meant something was wrong.

But, Kurt wouldn't let his doubts spoil a perfectly good moment this time. Maybe Blaine really was just trying to surprise him.

Blaine put his things down on the edge of the bed and sat, as Kurt stood just before him to kiss him. Blaine put both hands around Kurt's waist, and Kurt gently hummed in satisfaction. He was beginning to feel heat build in his chest, and he would've kissed Blaine again were it not for who __else__ was in the room with them.

Sebastian hadn't been watching, though it was hard not to, and had just begun to gather one of his laundry piles, a basket and detergent.

Kurt put his hands on Blaine's thighs, running his fingers in small, soothing circles across his wrinkled jeans.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Kurt tried to calm his nerves, his concerns that those bad dreams he had sometimes, those fears that Blaine wasn't actually safe, were real this time. He gave his boyfriend's skin a once over for bruises or any other signs of harm. He didn't find any.

Blaine opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again, sighing.

He ran his hands over Kurt's, looking him in the eyes.

"I've just missed you, that's all," was all Blaine said.

Kurt squeezed Blaine's fingers in his own, disheartened by the sadness he saw.

"I've missed you too," Kurt assured him. "But we talk every day. Are you sure that's all that's wrong?"

Blaine smiled once more, slightly rolled his eyes.

"I'm not running away from home," he recited. "My parents don't hate me—that much—and my dad didn't hit me. I'm still doing fine at McKinley."

Kurt felt like he could breathe a little easier.

"Do your parents know you're here?" he guessed then. "I thought the last time you stayed, they got mad, and that was just on a weekend. And you __just__ got your car back."

"No, they think I'm at Artie's," Blaine said, shrugging. "I told them that we had a calculus midterm tomorrow and I was just gonna stay at his, so we could study and go to school together."

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"My mom almost didn't let me do that." Blaine laughed. "I think she thinks I'm going over there to—you know—"

Kurt feigned an offended look.

"Gee, they do still know about me, don't they?"

Blaine chuckled, kissed him.

"You know I don't see Artie like that."

"Mm hm." Kurt let himself be kissed once, then twice more, adding a hint of playful suspicion to his tone. "I know."

"I only have eyes for you," Blaine said.

Kurt had to painstakingly ignore the fact that, behind Blaine, he could see Sebastian's mouth forming a derisive grin.

In the year and a half that they'd been together, Kurt had only met the Andersons a handful of times. It seemed far too few for two people who wanted to get married, but Kurt was patient with the process, and knew he was lucky his future spouse's parents even knew he existed. The Andersons were always polite, and they did pay for their son to go to Dalton Academy when he was bullied for coming out, and they had to know that, when they were out of town, Kurt spent the night in their son's sailor-themed bedroom with him. But even with a partner as safe and monogamous as Kurt, and even though they hadn't kicked him out when he'd been honest with them, they seemed to disapprove of Blaine acting on his sexuality.

The first time Kurt met Blaine's parents was a couple weeks before the start of Kurt's senior year, when Blaine finally invited Kurt over to have dinner with them. He'd proceeded to introduce Kurt to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson without the title of "my boyfriend" even though that title was very much implied, if not for the fact that Blaine had never had a girl over, than for the fact that a boy who dressed like Kurt probably couldn't be anything other than "campy." As Blaine said his mother liked to put it.

Blaine had been so nervous throughout the evening he'd forgotten to so much as look at Kurt the entire time, let alone hold his hand or do anything to show his affection. Kurt had been expecting that, so he'd just answered Mrs. Anderson's questions with a smile, avoiding the awkwardness that arose every time he said something too "campy."

The very stern and bushy-browed Mr. Anderson hadn't said a word. Kurt had noticed the man watching Blaine a lot, as if he were the one being questioned, and Blaine had sometimes cut in on Kurt's answers every once in a while, to try and clarify and make them "Mr. Anderson-friendly." To no avail. At everything, the old Filipino man simply raised his eyebrows, gave an uninterested "Hm." No wonder Blaine was always stumbling over himself for approval. This man seemed impossible to read.

Kurt was surprised when, a couple weeks later, they'd actually decided to let Blaine transfer to McKinley. Throughout Blaine's junior year and Kurt's senior year, they didn't do anything to necessarily make their relationship anymore difficult. It helped that they couldn't keep tabs on Blaine properly because they were out of town frequently, and Blaine would invite Kurt over constantly. Sometimes they came home when he was around in the day time, over summer. They said "Hello," and other than that, they didn't seem to care.

But lately, ever since Kurt had gone off to college, and since it was the year Blaine's father was retiring, it seemed they were pressuring their son to spend less and less time with his "special friend," and more time at home.

"Don't you have class tomorrow?" Kurt asked him.

"Yeah, but, I figured I could miss a day. For you."

"As much as I appreciate you coming to shack up with me —and as little as I like the idea of you ditching just to be with me—unfortunately I still have to go to school tomorrow."

"I'm totally okay with that. Do what you need to do, and I'll just—wait here, until you get back."

Kurt would've been fine with that, except for the fact that Blaine __wouldn't__ be alone while he was waiting. Sebastian was currently packing the last of his load, getting ready to leave the room.

When he finally did, Kurt cradled Blaine's face in his hands, traced the contours of Blaine's lips with his thumbs.

"Kiss me," he said.

Blaine willingly did as he was told, and Kurt smiled into each hard press of their lips. A few seconds in, he felt Blaine's hands sneak up and thread through his thick, brown hair. Kurt slowly eased his tongue into Blaine's mouth, tasting a familiarity that always really got to him. The next thing he knew Blaine was pushing him back onto the bed so that he was straddling him. Blaine had just started trailing his hands down Kurt's chest and flicking open buttons when the door swung back open behind them.

Kurt snapped up, nearly mortified.

"Could you?" he managed.

Sebastian sighed, turned back around.

An hour and a half later, Seb was still in the laundry room. He hadn't bothered to go back after the ten minutes he figured it took them, since Kurt was probably going to keep him out as long as he could anyway. Instead he tried to shake off the bad mood he'd sunk into ever since Blaine had walked in, just expecting to be taken in. Of course Kurt had played it off well, and there was no way he would've said no or anything, but Seb could tell that Blaine's sudden interruption in his little routine was sort of throwing him.

And things had been different with Kurt, Sebastian thought now, as he emptied his basket and let his clothes soak, ever since that Sunday Kurt had followed him to "church." It wasn't like he'd planned all that, he was supposed to have gone to his father's service in Westerville just like he did every weekend or two, with a speech he would stand up and read before the baptisms. But he'd lost the stupid speech, written on a loose leaf of paper somewhere, in the midst of packing up hastily on Friday, and getting fucked up at Scandals on Saturday. His father wouldn't let him go on stage without it, without "having prepared." So they'd gotten in an argument, and in protest, yes, Sebastian had sat there in a creepy abandoned chapel, and prayed.

He knew it must've made him look stupid to some people, his insistence on practicing his rather un-accepting father's religion. But there was something about being in church that made him feel comfortable and safe in a way he couldn't replicate. Perhaps it was his memories of being next to his mother in that cathedral in Sainte-Maxime, France, where they all used to attend when he was a kid. Young Sebastian always looked forward to that sunny redeeming morning when the week would start over, when unity would win and his parents would forgive each other for their most recent fall out. The wisdom and salience of the scriptures he had memorized, repeating them to himself like mantras as he needed them, the weight of a bible in his hands, the fine pages. Call his spirituality an outdated relic from his past, or call it muscle memory; it was sentimental, but for what it was worth it, having it was better than not.

Meanwhile, in the room, Kurt and Blaine were naked, bodies close beneath the comforter. Kurt had his hand on top of Blaine's and was feeling the coarseness that angered boxing had once brought to these knuckles. Blaine was staring at Kurt just like he had after their first time, like he was in awe of him, and it was doing all kinds of crazy, lovely things to Kurt's head. He didn't know how much longer he'd able to handle Blaine looking at him like this, not without melting into a smitten pile of teenager. He couldn't handle how much Blaine seemed to love him sometimes, how Blaine could always look at him like he was the most beautiful person alive.

Kurt yawned, then, nestling his face further into the pillow.

"Can you look at the clock on the desk, n'see what time it is?"

Blaine did. "It's almost midnight." Kurt shut his eyes and felt Blaine move in closer. "You tired?"

Kurt nodded, hummed in the affirmative.

Blaine glanced over at the door.

"Is Sebastian coming back?"

Kurt opened one eye.

"If he isn't back already, I'm assuming no."

Blaine pressed his lips together.

"He probably found a stranger's bed to sleep in," Kurt mumbled, "again." He found that funny, his lips slightly curling into a smug smile.

But Blaine didn't find it so much. He walked his fingers up and down Kurt's forearm, and Kurt could tell the tapping of those fingers meant his beau was anxious about something. He was almost too tired to ask what it was. Just before he fell asleep, Blaine nudged him back awake.

"Hm?"

"Hey," Blaine kissed the top of Kurt's nose. "We should probably put clothes on."

Kurt pouted.

"But I like being naked with you," he reasoned sleepily.

"As do I with you," Blaine sing-songed. "But this isn't just your room, and I don't want—him—to see us like this."

Kurt didn't make any more noise, so Blaine took the initiative. He got up and went to Kurt's drawer, pulling out a pair of Kurt's dark green pajamas and taking them into bed with him. He gestured for Kurt to sit up and Kurt did so groggily. Blaine dressed him completely in a shirt and pants, let him fall back into the sheets, then got a clean pair of underwear and pink sweatpants from his own bag for himself.

He was going to climb back into bed, but he remembered the sock outside. He opened the door to remove it and found Sebastian sitting on the floor on the other side of the hallway, phone in hand, laundry basket at his side.

Sebastian's face was illuminated by the screen.

"How long have you been out here?" Blaine said.

Sebastian stood up, and Blaine had almost forgotten how gangly Sebastian was. In the dark, the foot at least that Sebastian had on Blaine looked damn near menacing.

"Hi, Blaine. Cute pajamas."

Sebastian passed by him and Blaine shut the door, getting back into Kurt's bed. He then began vigilantly watching Sebastian move through the room. Sebastian, as a test, took his shirt off, and it was only then that Blaine started acting like he hadn't been watching. Putting on that whole bashful act.

"I don't think he would approve of you watching me do this," Sebastian said, unzipping his jeans and slinking them down his hips with ease. "Don't you think?"

Blaine half-scoffed, bundled further under the blankets.

.

"Whatever, Sebastian," he muttered. "Goodnight."

Kurt was the only one who got a decent night's sleep that night.

The next morning Kurt was in biology trying desperately to pay attention to, but couldn't much; not with fresh memories of Blaine rolling over and whispering, "Love you, sweetheart" to him this morning, memories of Blaine in the shower with him, kissing him and jacking him off as hot water rained down massaging their skin.

Class was over in a sweep and soon as it was, his cellphone buzzed in his pocket. While he was expecting his sweetheart, it was actually Tina calling.

" _ _Oh my god, Kurt, I'm so jealous that Blaine is there. I saw it on his Snapchat. He didn't tell me he was ditching to come and be with you. I wanna be invited."__

"Well, you should totally drive your emo self out here, and stop hiding in the dark with your misandrist literature and sad Imogen Heap records. I know you're a vampire, but the sun loves your beautiful face."

Tina wasn't starting university until the winter quarter began in late November. Just weeks before her departure to Brown University in the fall, she had a break-up-slash-mental-health-related nervous breakdown, and delayed her acceptance. That got her back on the wait list for winter, but Kurt was sure they would take her off of it in the next couple of weeks. Tina was not so sure, had been crying and dying her hair a lot. Well, more than usual.

" _ _Hey, I know you said that you're never gonna go to another party where there's alcohol involved, or another party thrown by someone from our high school, but I think that's pretty impossible because Artie's dragging me to Rick the Stick's party tonight, and I cannot suffer through that nightmare without you."__

Kurt felt himself deflating.

"God, Tina, we can't be __those__ alumni who go back to all the parties with the teeny-boppers."

She sighed. _"_ _ _You're right. I love hanging out with Artie, but his 'friends' make me want to put bullets in my brain."__

Though it wasn't ideal for Tina in the interim, Kurt was glad that she was officially done with his brother as of the end of their senior year. Finn was working full time at the tire shop and they hadn't even so much as texted each other since graduation. Kurt thought she was better for it. She was more herself without him, and Kurt loved Finn, but his brother has this way of winding girls up, making them obsess over him and lose themselves in the process.

Tina looked comfortable and badass again, donning all black instead of headbands and bright dresses, walking witch-like and regal behind the wheelchair of Artie Abrams, who stayed her best friend (and now, her new relationship partner) throughout her Finn affairs. While Kurt was not one to encourage dating another person so swiftly after a traumatizing break up, Tina and Artie's union made perfect sense to him, because it was like they had already been together. Those two talked like two people who'd known each other their entire lives, and in other past lives. They'd been inseparable since Tina was in eighth grade, and especially ever since the day they auditioned for Glee club in high school, when Tina heard Artie sing a surprisingly sexy, self-depreciating cover of Genuine's "Pony," and promptly fell head over heels in love with him (and him, at her "I Kissed A Girl" rendition, head over wheels in love with her).

"Well, let's do something tonight anyway," Kurt said to Tina. "Why don't you meet me and Blaine here on campus and we'll figure something out. I'll pay for your gas."

" _ _No, it's fine, you don't have to do that."__

"Nonsense." He didn't really have the money, but he was feeling nostalgic, and knew Tina would help him feel better about that. "Artie can come too, if you can drag him out of jock hell."

" _ _Probably not. He ran as student body vice president on Rick's ticket, and won, so now he says he has to make a 'political appearance.' I think that just means that he wants to buy weed from him."__

"Hold on, I'm getting another call."

It was Rachel.

"Hello?"

" _ _I know that you said that you're never gonna go to another party where there's alcohol involved, but you__ have _ _to come to the drinking game party Arlena and I are hosting at her and Bryce's apartment in the everglades, where Vivianne and Frances and that other really hot guy I told you about live."__

"I don't know who any of those people are."

" _ _I know you won't drink and I totally respect that, but the games will still be fun, and, you can bring your cutie boyfriend with you. I saw him, okay, I know he's here."__

Kurt frowned. Wait a minute, Tina was friends with Blaine on Snapchat, but Rachel definitely wasn't. "How do you know that Blaine is here?"

" _ _I saw him, like, ten minutes ago with Sebastian. Or at least, I swear that was him, right? They were walking across west campus earlier, getting coffee."__

Kurt was really going to kill this guy.

"Hold on," he said. "I have another call."

" _ _Seriously, though, if your boyfriend comes tonight, you'll be safe, you haven't come to anything in such a long time and my friends they all like you and—"__

Kurt switched lines.

"Tina?"

" _ _Am I going to die alone, you think?"__

"Can't talk. Though I hope you feel better and I'll buy you all the peach flavored ice cream you want when you get here. But I have to go. Sebastian is getting coffee with Blaine, in places. How dare he, again, you know?"

" _ _Ugh, that bitch."__

Kurt dialed Blaine's number.

" _ _Hey, lovely,__ _"_ Blaine said, chipper, into the phone.

"Hi. Where are you?"

" _ _I think I'm in the—campus center now. Caffeine craving settled. I sort of wandered around a bit by myself this morning, needed to clear my head, I hope you don't mind."__

Kurt exhaled slowly.

"Rachel told that you were with Sebastian. Um, earlier."

" _ _Oh. He was just showing me how to get here."__

Kurt's first instinct was not to believe that, because Sebastian was Sebastian and there was always an ulterior motive.

Kurt tapped his fingers against the back of his cellphone.

"Stay in the campus center? I have chem lab now, but it's a short one. I'll meet you there afterwards."

" _ _Okay."__

After lab, just as he turned the corner out of the sciences building, Kurt found Sebastian standing in front of a campus bulletin board just a few feet away from him, posting fliers for the student run business association he had just joined. He stood out from most of the students buzzing around him, had on an olive green sweater on that clung to his arms and chest, dark wash jeans slung low on his hips. Kurt wished his eye would stop catching on Sebastian's hips, as he came up behind him.

"I'd say 'good morning,'" Sebastian said before Kurt could start, not turning around, "but it isn't now."

"So glad you and Blaine could catch up this morning."

Sebastian did turn at that, staring down at his little roommate and noticing, with dread, his choice of outfit today. Black velvet pants clinging up and down those thighs and a nearly translucent, long sleeve white button-up, that had an intentional, open slit across the chest and the curves of his shoulders, revealing the skin of his collarbones and well, that was. Interesting.

"You really have that thing of yours on a tight leash," Sebastian said. "It's a good thing he likes being a submissive."

"Jus _ _t answer,__ the question."

Sebastian's heartbeat skipped a little bit, at the sudden wrath and venom in Kurt's voice.

"I woke up this morning and Blaine was all over me," he decided to go with.

"What?"

"He started talking my ear off the second I moved around in bed. Wouldn't shut up, about you or about anything really. Like a blaring alarm clock without a snooze button."

Kurt, meanwhile, tried to relax. Blaine wouldn't do it, __he__ didn't want Sebastian.

"He followed me out of the room because he said he wanted coffee or something," Sebastian said. "I was glad to finally get him off my tail."

"Okay, you can stop now. I get it, nothing happened."

"I don't see why what I do or don't do with your boyfriend matters anyway."

"Despite the fact that you would've given an eye to have Blaine tailing behind you last year, while he was with me?"

Sebastian stared for a moment, quiet.

"I think your brain is damaged," he said then. "No matter how many times I tell you I don't want Blaine anymore, you insist, like a broken record."

"I don't trust you."

"I suppose I wouldn't trust me either."

"I'm going to see him now. I hate you."

"Been a pleasure, as always."

Kurt turned his chin up and stalked the opposite direction, and anyone observing the pair would've thought that Sebastian was watching Kurt leave so diligently because he wanted him.

Kurt walked into the campus center's café and lounge area and found Blaine at a table, dressed in a bright green sweater, sitting with none other than Rachel. This chick was seriously omnipotent or something.

"Oh, Kurt, so glad you're here," said Blaine. He and Rachel were __holding hands,__ and Kurt found it so strange he also had to laugh at it. "Rachel was just telling me about some kind of game party tonight, a competition? I'm sold, it sounds like an amazing time."

"I don't know, Blaine," Kurt said. "I invited Tina to come hang out with us—"

"Your friend can come too," said Rachel.

"—and I don't know if she or I will be up for that kind of mood tonight."

"You shouldn't have to be afraid of going out anymore just because of what some __awful__ person tried to do to you," Blaine was saying all of a sudden. "It's not fair that __you__ have to lose your sense of fun, you know? You shouldn't let him take that from you."

Kurt really didn't want to talk about Chandler again.

"And, it would be fun if me, you and Tina all went together," Blaine said. "Just like the good old days."

"Yeah, it'd be fun for you two, because you like to drink," Kurt said.

Blaine nodded, taking that in stride.

"Okay, you're right. If you don't wanna go, we don't have to go."

Both Rachel and Blaine pouted in tandem, and Kurt studied Blaine carefully. He had his bouncing legs crossed and propped up on the empty chair next to Rachel across from him, his big puppy eyes boring holes in Kurt's resistance. Kurt hated the way it worked on him sometimes, Blaine biting his lip, looking all pleading.

"Fine," he said, smiling and he just loved the way Blaine looked when he was getting his way. "We can go for a little while."

"All right. And I'll just like, drive home to Westerville tonight, after we get back, okay?"

Kurt looked amused at that, pulling up a seat in the empty chair, placing Blaine's legs back on top of his own.

"I'm not letting you drive drunk," he said. "In the middle of the night, no less. You do have school in the morning."

Blaine stared innocently. "I'm not gonna get __drunk.__ "

"You get drunk whenever there's anything even mistily soporific within a four foot radius of you, honey."

Rachel reached across the table to pat Blaine on the back.

"It's okay, it happens to me too. The best of us, the best of us."

Several hours later, once it was already dark out, Kurt and Blaine sat on Kurt's bed in the dorm, making an attempt at doing homework before Tina arrived. While Kurt was actually focusing on his math problems, thought not without glaring at his floor rug with half of Sebastian's clothes __still__ all over it, Blaine was lightly singing "Japanese Denim" and pointedly not doing homework, distracted by things like Kurt's eyelashes.

"Have your parents asked where you are yet?" Kurt said, absent. He could feel the way Blaine's eyes were on him as he etched out an equation, and drew a couple of hearts at the sound of Blaine's singing voice.

That got Blaine's eyes to trail off, got him to stop singing for a moment.

"No," Blaine answered simply. Too simply. He tried to get back to his book again.

Now Kurt was the one staring at Blaine, doubtful.

"Seriously, you don't seem okay," Kurt said. "Are you sure something didn't happen before you came? You usually call first, and you seem, I don't know. Sort of sad."

Blaine looked somewhat annoyed that he was being asked again.

"I told you, I just. Missed you. And, I was tired, of my parents telling me I had to wait to see you, when really, nothing was stopping me."

Kurt tilted his chin.

"So, you're doing this to try and prove something to them."

"No." Blaine put his book down with haste, took Kurt's hands in his, kissed them. "I'm not like, waiting for their approval, or else we might die before our wedding day. It's just that-every day that you're not home, Kurt, and I have to face them, knowing what they think about you, about our life. I just feel like I'm missing something, all the time. Seeing you, physically, in person, is the only way to make it feel better."

"I love you," Kurt said, was all he could think to say. He wished he could fix Blaine's worries and insecurities, but the only thing he could do was continue to love him, to help with what Blaine let him.

"I love you too."

Blaine was the first to let go of Kurt's hand, sigh a little, and then get back to his reading, and his song. Kurt listened, harmonizing a bit for a while, then giggled to himself.

"What?" said Blaine.

"What would we have done with you, if I'd gone to New York?"

Blaine laughed too, shaking his head.

"I don't know," he said. "I'd be miserable, to say the very least."

Kurt was about to lean in and kiss him, but he heard that ominous clicking coming from the door, his least favorite sound.

Sebastian dropped his book bag on the floor, ceremonious.

"Evening, Kurt," he said. "Blaine."

Kurt looked down at his littered rug pointedly, curling his fingers into a fist with his spare hand, squeezing them tight.

"You still haven't finished your laundry, dear," he said.

"Later, dear," Sebastian said.

Blaine looked back and forth between the two of them warily.

Sebastian left the room shortly after he'd come in, making it a point to do nothing about the clothes, and Kurt's irritation about this may've stewed longer had Tina had not shown up a few minutes later. His best friend was dressed in an elaborate gothic hoop skirt and a studded choker that said "bite me," her hair long, pin-straight and purple-streaked. She FaceTimed Artie and caught everyone up on her latest post-graduation passion projects, the most recent of which was hand-knitting matching snuggies for herself and her cat Heirloom.

" _ _You are the most un-single single cat lady__ __I've ever met in my life,"__ said Artie.

Meanwhile Kurt and Blaine got ready for the night. All getting ready consisted of for Blaine was putting more gel in his hair—which Kurt had actively tried to protest—but for Kurt of course, the process was elaborate. An entire new outfit was in order of course, though still based around his favorite slitted white shirt, plus extra hairspray, higher boots, a crocodile broach, and a number of face creams and powders that would make his skin look more highlighted, brighter. Blaine watched Kurt in fascination as he changed and prettied up, sitting cross-legged on the bed with his hands folded in his lap.

"Should I drive, or you?" Blaine said, as Tina and Artie still cackled to each other in the background.

Kurt shook his head, trying to be gentle, failing: "It's hilarious to me that you're even asking."

"Oh, come on. You always make me sound like an alcoholic."

"You aren't quite," Kurt said, pressing the trigger on his hairspray can. "But we'll give it a few more years, see where you stand."

Blaine rolled his eyes.

When they got the apartment, which was dimly lit, loud, and humid inside, Kurt, Tina and Blaine were offered a tray of green Jell-O shots by a guy with bunny ears and suspenders on. Blaine took two and gave his thanks, handing one to Tina as Kurt shook his head, made a face, and declined.

"I haven't had one of these in __forever__ ," Blaine said as he and Tina sucked the fixes down.

"The last time I did these, I made out with Mike Chang at Brittany S. Pierce's surprise party. I thought everyone was staring because I lifted up his shirt and let everyone see his abs, so Finn would get jealous, but it turns out everyone was staring because they thought we were related."

Rachel strolled up to them just then, wearing a black turtleneck, a very short skirt, long, white, girlish socks and those same chunky loafers.

"Hi, I'm so, so glad you could all make it!" Her eyes stopped for a moment on Tina, who was staring past her at the weird Salvador Dali painting on the wall across from them. "What was your name?" Rachel said, to get her attention.

"Tina Cohen-Chang. I know Chang sounds Chinese, but I'm Korean, and I __will__ get pissed if you get the two mixed up."

"Oh, okay. Is it hyphenated because you're mixed race?"

"You can't just __ask__ people if they're mixed race."

"I didn't mean to offend you, I—"

"It's 'Cohen' because my parents are divorced, and I decided to take both their names. Wanna paint each other's nails, talk about it?"

"Wait, where are you—"

"She's a little intense," Kurt said to Rachel, as Tina took Blaine in arm, marched around with him to try and find a proper drink. "It means she likes you, trust me."

"H-her bone structure is incredible."

Rachel went on to chase after Tina's dark storm, and presently, Blaine returned to Kurt with cup full of sprite and tequila. Kurt took Blaine to a couch and the two of them people watched, commenting on which celebrity such and such looked like, but at one point, Rachel and Tina called Blaine to play to flip cup, and Kurt insisted that he go and enjoy himself.

Kurt watched for a half hour that felt like two hours, as Blaine took shot after shot in a number of creative ways, including straight from the bottle itself. Kurt couldn't help it, his skin was crawling watching Blaine douse himself like this. He knew it was indicative of a deeper problem, wished he could see Blaine's life at home and really understand what was going on, behind those seemingly happy-go-lucky eyes.

Blaine looked over at him excitedly from time to time, as if that would convey that they were experiencing this together, but he didn't come back to Kurt's side at all, and Kurt was old enough now to know he didn't like that.

Kurt was considering getting up and telling Tina that this party was suffering, and he wanted to go, or attempting to talk to some of the acquaintances he had met with Rachel at one time or another, but just then the door to the apartment was opening, and wouldn't you know it: Sebastian was walking in, still wearing that olive sweater from before, followed by two (really hot) guys Kurt had never seen him with before.

Sebastian didn't know the guys he'd walked in with well. He'd just met them today in the first meeting of the business society he had just joined. When they'd asked him if he'd wanted to come out tonight, to a party where there'd be "girls, girls everywhere," he knew that they were dead set in their heterosexuality, that they had no idea about him being the way he was. For once he felt tired of always being "that gay guy," and instead, kept a low profile.

Thought he could use a night off from trying to break and bend someone. Instead, he saw Kurt sitting alone, still wearing that weird cut-up shirt, and thought this would distract him enough to force him to go home alone tonight.

"Just because we're both here, and I'm convinced you've installed some kind of tracker on my phone at this point, it doesn't mean we have to be civil to each other."

Sebastian sat down next him.

"Blaine went home, I'm assuming," he said.

"Blaine's here," Kurt announced, flicking his hand in the direction.

Sebastian found the image of Blaine with a blindfold on, as he got to choose between several different cups of booze on a table, surrounded by women, pretty decently hilarious.

"Have fun taking care of the bachelorette tonight," Sebastian said.

Kurt didn't appreciate that, but he said, "Thanks."

Sebastian didn't feel the need to say much more to make Kurt feel pathetic. Kurt already seemed to be having an off night without Sebastian even having to contribute. He was almost jealous. He kept trying not to pay attention too much to those eyes, which illuminated every little thing that he was feeling, so crystal, transparent.

Kurt glanced over at Sebastian after a moment. He watched the way Sebastian's lips met the rim of the cup, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips after he'd swallowed, and then he found himself quickly darting his gaze away, trying to ignore the clinical attraction.

"I don't get it," Sebastian said, after some time. "It's like the second Blaine drinks, you're invisible to him or something."

Kurt picked Blaine out in that crowd, and one of those girls was taking a shot from Blaine's belly button. He was sweating, laughing, and half-rolling around on the floor. Kurt rolled his eyes, trying not to act like that hurt. They were just girls, and Blaine didn't even know them. But Kurt just didn't understand how this kind of thing was considered fun people his age. And Blaine didn't even go to school with these people.

"Blaine and I don't have to be with each other all the time," Kurt defended, to Sebastian. "That's not what a relationship's about. Not that you would know anything about that."

"What makes you think I don't know anything about a relationship?"

"Oh, I don't know, Mr. We-Broke-Up-About-Twenty-Minutes-After-We-Met."

Sebastian looked slightly impressed.

"You still remember that I said that."

Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I remember a lot of things about our horrible first meeting."

Sebastian took that as a compliment, in his way.

"I think I'm leaving soon," he said.

"Leaving Ohio? Forever?"

"This party blows. If it can even be considered a party."

"This is one of the worst social gatherings I've ever attended." Kurt glanced down at the carpet, which covered in spills and discarded cups. "I feel sorry for the person in charge of this."

Sebastian stood up from the couch, stretching beautifully. He smiled at Kurt, and for the first time, Kurt was uncomfortably moved by it. For a second it looked nice. Genuine.

"I was serious about your clothes being gone, if they aren't off the floor," Kurt said. "You have until tonight."

Sebastian nodded. "Anything for you."

They held eye contact a moment longer, something simmering between them, and Blaine across the way, who was on his way to fucked up, saw a trace of it between them, started to panic.

Once Sebastian walked off, and after Kurt's eyes trailed curiously after Sebastian for a moment, Blaine wandered over to the couch, his eyes hazed over. He plopped hard onto Kurt's lap, causing Kurt to squeal and squirm underneath his weight. Blaine straddled Kurt's lap with a leg on either side, wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders.

"I love you, how come you haven't—come to play games with me? I know I haven't been back here to talk, but Tina seriously needs a wingman, I think Rachel's like, desperately trying to hit on her. Are you sure that she's straight?"

"I haven't gone over there because I will probably never drink, remember?" Kurt arched back to get a clearer view of Blaine's face. "And I suspect Rachel's insistence on her identity as a 'gay ally' might just be a cover for her latent bi-curiosity, at the very least. How much did you have to drink?"

Blaine pressed his mouth against the shell of Kurt's ear instead of answering, and then he started

to bite and kiss along it. Kurt closed his eyes because he loved how that felt, but he was sober, and they were in a room full of people.

When he looked out again, he saw Sebastian standing with those two guys from before, watching him. Watching Kurt and Blaine with his disorienting hazel-green eyes, laughing.

Kurt began to furiously blush.

"Blaine, come on," Kurt muttered, as Blaine's lips went from ear to neck. Kurt groaned a little when Blaine began to bite there, too.

"Can we be alone here?" Blaine asked, sucking his way along Kurt's jawline clumsily.

"We're not alone, Blaine, that's the thing," Kurt said breathlessly. He tried to push Blaine off of him gently, but Blaine was obstinate, still handsy. "We're—in public, so if you—mmh—if you want to do this, we have to wait—"

"Kurt, don't ever leave me, okay?" Blaine was saying between bites at Kurt's skin, with a sudden sense of urgency.

Kurt gave Blaine a harder push back so he would finally stop. Blaine snaked his hands up either side of Kurt's face, cradling it and pressing his thumbs against Kurt's cheeks.

Kurt wanted to melt.

"Why would I—"

"I get scared," Blaine cut him off, "I get so, so scared that you're gonna find somebody better than me here."

Kurt wished that Blaine would look at him, really look at him, but his pupils were blown and his focus was all scattered.

"Is that why you came to see me last night?" Kurt asked him.

Blaine paused, breathing heavily and trailing his hands down Kurt's chest, staring at him like he needed him more than anything.

"Please tell me you won't leave," Blaine begged. "That there won't ever be someone else while I'm not with you." Blaine began to grip Kurt's shirt in his hands, "I just, I love you so much, and I don't know what I'd ever do without you. Promise me, please—"

"Okay," Kurt hushed him, holding his hands. He suddenly felt awful even though he hadn't done anything. "I promise, okay? I won't leave you."

Kurt looked around for Sebastian's lasting stare, but as it turned out, no one was looking at them now. Tina and Rachel were making out in a corner though, so Kurt would have to come back and untangle that mess when he could manage it.

"You're really drunk," Kurt said as Blaine messily kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.

"I just had some shots, not that many shots. I lost at quarters like, seven times in a row. But I'm fine—I just want you so bad right now—"

Kurt pushed Blaine back even further, trying to help him up and steady his feet on the ground, deciding that they should just leave now and not give Blaine's stomach time to turn itself inside out __here.__

Kurt held onto Blaine and walked them towards the door, out of the stuffy apartment, and down the stairs.

"Why's Sebastian so mean to you?" Blaine was saying, or more like slurring.

"He's mean to everyone," Kurt answered, as he led them to his car. "I don't think Sebastian Smythe has one nice bone in his entire plastic body—"

"I don't—" Blaine hiccuped, paused to grip onto Kurt tighter, "I don't want you with him, living with him, anymore."

"Well unfortunately I have to for now, Blaine," Kurt said. "Trust me, I tried to get out of it, but any attempt at proving he's a danger to me is going to fail unless he __actually__ does something threatening, which at this point I don't even think is going to happen—"

"Is something going on? With you and him?"

Kurt stopped in his tracks, pulled Blaine out in front of him, holding him vice-grip-tight by the forearms.

"You've _ _got__ to be kidding me," he deadpanned. "You're serious?"

"I-I don't know," Blaine blundered, looking down.

"Have you completely missed the fact that I have __hated__ Sebastian, ever since I first met him?" Kurt said. "Because of you?" He brought his boyfriend back under the support of his arm. "There will never be anything going on between he and I, ever."

"Okay, I'm—I'm sorry."

Kurt opened the passenger seat door of his car for Blaine, guiding him in and buckling his seatbelt while he let his head fall back lazily against the seat, which he was fumbling around with to recline.

"Baby," Blaine grumbled. "I didn't mean to get like this. Again. I just—"

"I know, and we'll talk about it later, okay?"

They did not, in fact, talk about it later, or at least not the rest of that night.

Kurt returned to the apartment to find Tina and Rachel doing something that resembled talking in the kitchen, and for once, Tina was not the one crying.

"You mean to tell me—all that __stuff,__ in there," Rachel was pointing furiously at a nearby bedroom door, mascara smudged around her cheeks, "and you have a _ _boyfriend__?"

"Yeah. Artie knows I like to experiment. He does it too."

"Oh my __god__."

"We've been trying to get Kurt to let Blaine make out with Artie, for __years__."

"Tina?" Kurt interrupted. "As much as I and everyone love hearing you talk about how free-spirited and boundary-less your budding relationship is." He started pulling Tina with him. "We've got a code green. Blaine is sloppy."

"I love him, but when __isn't__ he sloppy."

"Wait!" Rachel called after them. She ran up to Tina, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close so they could messily tongue kiss. Kurt was both grossed out and weirdly proud of Tina.

"C-call me," Rachel said, to their retreating figures.

After dropping Tina off at her car and saying goodbye, Kurt took Blaine back up the elevator to his floor. By the time Blaine was two steps into the hallway, he was throwing up. Kurt scrambled to grab the trash can from his lobby and shove it beneath Blaine's spews. Blaine kept trying to apologize between gags. Kurt wouldn't let him.

When they got in, after Blaine got the rest out of his system in the bathroom, of course Sebastian was there, wide awake. But also, notably: his clothes were off the floor. In fact, it seemed he had swept, and even Swiffer-ed the floor, the fresh lemony-pine smell sharp and relieving to Kurt's nose. He even put the rug back exactly in its place.

Kurt took Blaine out of his clothes, blocking Sebastian's hypothetical view with his back, as Blaine fell back on the bed and attempted to curl up with one of the cold, dry sheets.

"I'm going to go shower," Kurt said, trying to ignore the fact that his favorite white shirt was probably going to be stained. "Trash is by the bed if you need it, okay?"

Blaine grunted some sort of answer as Kurt picked up his shower caddy, left the room.

Sebastian was surprised Kurt hadn't given him some kind of warning when he left, about leaving his precious lover alone to suffer in peace. Nearly forty five minutes passed, and it was almost midnight. Sebastian had almost gone this entire day with not one solicitation, dirty text, or intention to hook up. He was oddly proud of himself.

"Sebastian?"

Sebastian turned at the sound of Blaine's coarse voice. Blaine was shifting over to his side to face

him, but his eyes were still closed. Sebastian decided to ignore him.

"You think—you think you aren't gonna fall for him," Blaine started.

"Who, Kurt?"

.

"You think that you can just ignore your feelings, and they'll just go away, but then you spend time around him, and he just—grows on you, he has this way, then you look at him one day and you can't even help yourself."

Sebastian had no idea how to respond to this information.

"It happens so slowly you don't even realize it," Blaine finished. "And then all at once. Even when you don't want it to."

Sebastian laughed.

"If you're telling me this because you think I'm attracted to your effeminate bitch of a boyfriend," he didn't want to use that word this time, but this was serious, he was tired of all this childishness, "then you have a serious case of alcohol poisoning."

"I'm not poisoned," Blaine contested, smothering his face into Kurt's pillow. "I know what I'm talking about."

Sebastian hoped he kept his face there.

"I love him," Blaine muttered. "I love him so much, and I can't lose him, I won't lose him to you—"

"Trust me, you have him all to yourself. Keep him, please."

Hours later, as the dark night became the early morning, Kurt was waking up to Blaine saying goodbye to him, promising they'd talk about all this later. Sebastian was still awake in his own bed, his back turned on them. He heard the noises that their lips made when they kissed, heard Kurt humming "it's okay" over and over, and then finally, the door shutting, leaving Kurt and Sebastian alone again.

As it should've been.


	6. Blow

**Author's Note:** So because I don't have as many people reading this on FFnet as I do over on Archiveofourown, I haven't been updating the document here in as timely of a matter as I do over there. As of right now I'm about a chapter or two behind in the FFnet version.

I will still post the whole story on this site as well, but if you're wanting to read the updates right when I finish them, I'd suggest heading on over there to follow along! (when you get to AO3, if you don't have an account, just search the title and I'm sure it'll pop up)

Also please don't hesitate to let me know what you're thinking, good or bad, as you read. Reviews are really super helpful!

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" _It wasn't so much the Sebastian of it all,"_ Blaine clarified, on the phone with Kurt the next Friday. _"I guess I just_ _wanted to pin it on him because he's the only guy I know who goes to school with you."_

"I know," Kurt said, smiling a little. He was in the dorm room at his desk, alone, enjoying the peace. "But you do know that that was ridiculous, right?"

Blaine laughed at himself. _"_ _A little."_

"A lot," Kurt corrected him.

" _I just,"_ Blaine started again, _"_ _think that you're the smartest, most talented, most inspiring boy in the entire world, Kurt. I would_ _think that everyone around you would meet you and start to think so too, you know? Including—"_

"Other guys?" Now Kurt was the one laughing. "People aren't fawning over me everywhere I go, Blaine. You have on what I like to call love goggles."

" _Love goggles?"_

"Like beer goggles, but with less regretful consequences, sometimes marriage."

Kurt understood Blaine's uneasiness about their distance. Perhaps he hadn't before because _he_ was the one who'd started a new life this year, who had new things to distract himself with while Blaine still lived in their old world. He still remembered how he felt in the height of his paranoia about Sebastian, how he'd had too much pride and stubbornness to act outwardly the way Blaine did, sure, but he'd still had terribly invasive thoughts, of accusing Blaine of cheating or trying to leave him. He definitely understood the desperation.

Blaine assured Kurt that he wasn't always feeling as anxious as he'd been when he'd showed up to the room. Sometimes he was fine, and courageous, and sure. At other times, though, he used his heart, and his fear, instead of his brain.

Kurt knew this to be one of Blaine's flaws, and didn't think he wanted to be with him any less because of it. It wasn't like Kurt didn't have his flaws too. It was just that he was worried about how reluctant Blaine had even been to tell him his concerns, how he masked them with alcohol and trying to have sex with dubious consent.

The drinking was becoming more consistent and routine ever since the first time they showed up at a bar together. That had been Sebastian's fault, in a way, they never would've stepped in foot in Scandals had he not outstretched his dirty privileged hand. Although, Kurt had been the one who'd pushed for them to go. It was still Sebastian's fault, though.

Regardless, he didn't want to have _that_ conversation with Blaine, today, right now. Baby steps, he figured they should take it, one issue at a time. Today, they'd accomplished enough. He wanted to focus on the good things, on the love, instead.

Later on that evening, Kurt realized that Halloween weekend was only one week away. It was totally dorky of him, but he absolutely _lived_ for the thirty first, even as an adult, as it was _the_ holiday dedicated to elaborate, over-the-top costumes. When it came to making costumes, Kurt was a connoisseur, and this was one of the few times a year he had a massive captive audience for his work.

Kurt's actual plans for the weekend were his secondary concern. His first concern was finishing the gaudy male spin-off of little red riding hood he'd been dreaming about for months. The getup was being made with red velvet and spandex, white silk, a black lace-front corset, and of course, the longest thigh-high, leather, red-soled boots that he could get his greedy, designer-hungry hands on.

Kurt had been doing mandatory volunteer hours with the theater department's _Urinetown_ production for a couple of weeks now. Most of it was lighting and curtains and the regular crew's busywork they couldn't be assed doing, but after about a week or so, Kurt started sneaking into the costume department's wing, to use their spare sewing machines at night. Recycling their fabrics that had previously been discarded, he turned scraps into beautiful vestures.

Tonight Kurt was in the room finishing up his riding hood, which he'd been perfecting with the details all week. It was post-rehearsal, and Rachel, the female lead's under-challenged second understudy, had followed Kurt back there this time. He didn't mind, as it gave him a chance to talk her ear off about his vision for this look, and gave him the authority to make her do his extra stitching, in exchange for the pleasure of his company.

"So these are are my sketches of what it'll look like when it's done," Kurt was saying to Rachel, sliding his notebook across the table. He then adjusted the white shirt he was working on under the sewing machine, watching as her eyes scanned his vignettes.

"This is incredible, Kurt," she said. "You're really going to wear a corset with it?" Kurt's eyes flickered up at her, defensive. "Not that that's a bad thing," she added. "I mean, you're already so skinny, it'll look great."

Kurt smiled, satisfied with the change of her response, pressing his foot on the machine's pedal.

"Yes, I am actually wearing a corset. But that's nothing compared to the rendition of Gaga's glittery ten inch heel look I wore for an entire week to school my sophomore year."

"Oh my god, do you still have that?"

"Anyway, Yves Saint Laurent had a plethora of corsets and a slew of red and black in their latest fall collection at fashion week, especially black leather. I've been dying to try the whole thing on for Hummel-size ever since."

Rachel picked up her needle and thread again, working on the lining of the hood.

"Blaine and I are going to match," Kurt continued, still feeding the machine with care. "Blaine is going as my 'big bad wolf,' though he's not really big or bad. He's more like a smaller, puppy-sized version of Jacob from Twilight."

Rachel chuckled. "You like Twilight?" she said.

"No," he shot back, stern. "Do you?"

Rachel hesitated. "Maybe."

"I am, however, in love with Taylor Lautner, and I'll watch any movie he's in as long as he's wet and naked." At the look on Rachel's face, he feigned innocence. "What? I'm in a relationship, but I have eyes."

"Uh huh, mister."

Kurt finished with one of the shoulders on his sleeveless top, then glanced up at the clock. It was almost nine, and he'd been out since noon, but he was in no rush to get to his room. Things with Sebastian were testier than usual lately, but for once it wasn't because his roommate was having gentlemen callers in and out of their pad. In fact, Sebastian hadn't had anyone over in almost two weeks, not since that last party where he had worn green.

Kurt decided to give himself fifteen more minutes in the sewing room, or at least until he was done with his shirt. After a while, Rachel asked him what exactly he was doing for Halloween weekend, and he was hesitant to tell her.

He'd half-heartedly been planning on going back to Lima to hang out with Blaine, plus Tina and Artie. Apparently Sugar Motta was having another one of her Daddy-funded McKinley parties at BreadstiX, and yes, it did make him feel humiliated that he was going to be a college student at a high school party, but he and Blaine had matching outfits. They had to be together. Besides, because it was a weekend, because it was _this_ weekend, there were going to be things transpiring with Blaine after the whole affair, whatever that affair might be. At Blaine's house, which he was going to have to himself for two days, they planned on venturing into dom-sub territory officially, for the first time.

"You _have_ to come to frat row with me," Rachel told him now. "Thousands of people will be there, you'll get so many compliments, and, there are even costume _contests_ where you can win money and things."

"The last time I attended a fraternity event, I blacked out. Against my will."

"But Ohio State is famous for its 'Nightmare on Frat Row,' you don't even have to drink because it's mostly like a carnival, the orgs set up rides and dance floors and these really elaborate haunted houses. Plus, it's _freeeeee._ "

Rachel sang the last note as Kurt turned the shirt, began stitching up the other shoulder, and damn it, he was smiling at that. She was lucky she had such a good voice.

"You do realize that every time we have this conversation, I end up not enjoying myself in the end," he said, still trying to protest.

"Come on, what are you going to do instead?"

"Blaine and Artie want Tina and I to go to this girl we went to high school with's party. But."

"But?"

Kurt thought about how titillated he _wouldn't_ be wearing this outfit in a room full of McKinley jocks, plus with the anonymity and the more liberal way of thinking in this part of town, he would have more space, and more time, to make out with Blaine freely.

"I'll think about it," he said to Rachel.

Rachel nodded.

"Tell-" She paused for a moment, suddenly looking flustered. "Tell Tina, I'll be looking forward to seeing her?"

Just then Rachel's phone was ringing, so she handed the red hood back to Kurt, dismissed herself for her study group back in her dorm building.

Once the door shifted shut, and Kurt knew he was alone, he stopped the machine and took a deep, slow breath. The shirt was pretty much done, save for a few details; it was a white silk shirt with a fold-over collar, and the breakneck v-neck was designed to stop just above Kurt's navel, completely showing off his chest and ribcage.

Kurt stood up and walked across the empty room, going to the door and locking it three times. Then he walked back to the table, unbuttoning his sweater and removing his layers until he was standing shirtless in front of the nearby mirror.

Kurt slipped the shirt on for a fitting, then started at himself solemnly. He stared at his jutting collarbones, his near hairless chest, his blossoming arms. He used to always feel insecure about his body, but that was changing with years of retraining, positive mantras to himself, push ups, and the fact that Blaine had probably kissed every inch of him at this point. He was starting to see how someone could find him sexy, all the more spurred on by the fact that while he used to only dream of wearing an outfit like this, now he finally had the figure to actually put one on.

He traced the border of the shirt on him with his eyes, and almost blushed at how much skin he'd be showing everyone. Some of his day-to-day outfits were just as tight-fitting as this one would be, but at least Kurt's body was always covered when he wore those. He didn't usually feel the need to show skin for attention, but lately, as of the last couple of weeks, he's had this stubborn image, in his head. An image of Blaine seeing him dressed like this and getting that look, that look like he wanted Kurt to fuck him so hard, he forgot his own name.

Kurt wouldn't admit it, to anyone, ever, but he'd really, inexplicably horny lately. Kurt hated the implication that his body biologically depended on him coming from time to time in order for him to feel normal, (he wasn't Sebastian), but ever since the last time he'd saw Blaine, he'd been thinking about sex with him so much more than normal.

Perhaps that was because he still felt guilty for the things Blaine'd said. He didn't usually get this bad; he never felt the need to force himself to look provocative to drive Blaine crazy. It was just that they'd had sex a lot when they were in high school, and they had it so sparingly now. Plus, sometimes their sex could be so simple. Same quickened build up, same tearing off of each other's clothes within seconds, same positions, and same tones of voice when they said "I love you." Hell, Kurt could wear a potato sack, not wash his face, do nothing with his hair and Blaine would still always want to sleep with him the same amount.

Kurt liked being comfortable and safe around his boyfriend, but at the same time, he did want a little chase, a little thrill. The fact that Blaine had given him text-message permission to tie him up at some point this weekend, was only making him want to push Blaine's patience and resistance to the edge even more.

When Kurt got back to the room twenty minutes later, Sebastian was doing pull-ups on the six and a half foot bar he'd bought and rolled in here for some terrible reason last week, that barely even fit on his side of the room.

Kurt paid him no mind, grateful he was wearing a shirt for once and put his bag with the majority of his costume in it back in the closet. He then spread his velvet hood out in his rug to fold it, and felt Sebastian's eyes burning holes into his back as he did.

"What is that?" Sebastian asked, coming down from the bar. "Your dress from last year's prom?"

"It's part of a costume," Kurt corrected. "For Halloween."

"Right."

"What are you dressing up as?" Kurt asked. "I'd guess a dirty, French-speaking working boy from a brothel in early 20th century Europe, but I don't think you'd be so creative."

Sebastian appreciated that, in his head, and then he replied, "Satan."

"Really can't tell if you take the whole religion thing seriously, or if it's an ironic, long-con prank that absolutely _no one_ is buying."

Sebastian appreciated that a little less.

A couple days later, Blaine drove up to Ohio State for a fitting for his half of their costume. That was why Blaine was standing on top of a step stool in the middle Kurt's room that afternoon, wearing pointed wolf ears and a gray-black woolen outfit that only was half-sewn, covered in safety pins.

"So, what is it that we're going to again?" Blaine asked Kurt, staring down as his boyfriend came alarmingly close to jabbing the skin of his belly with a pin.

Kurt took another safety pin from between his lips as he knelt down on the floor in front of Blaine's pelvis. He knew that he was frowning something serious right now, but that was because this particular position was reminding him of _something._

"It's called 'Nightmare on Frat Row,'" Kurt said. "Cheesy, I know. Supposedly it's a street fair, there are supposed to be rides, and I didn't want to go, at first, but you know. Rachel. Plus, there'll be so many people there, I'm _sure_ that my outfit will be—"

"Ow!"

"Sorry, sorry—"

Kurt lifted the fabric of the waistband of the pants and pressed his thumb to the place where he'd just stabbed Blaine. Thought nothing of the tiny droplet of blood that appeared when he removed his digit and continued with his work. Blaine didn't look pleased with this, this had to have been the sixth time he'd been marred him in the last twenty minutes, but he also knew not to take it personally. Kurt was just in his "zone." There was no stopping him when he was like this.

"Anyway, I thought that we might as well try it," Kurt said, finishing this thought and changing his position. He went around to the back of Blaine then, and had to stifle the groan he felt rising in his chest at the view that this gave him of his ass. He tried to stay focused on the clothes, instead how much he really wanted to strip the clothes, taste Blaine's skin.

"Well, a street fair sounds like it could be fun," Blaine said. But then: "Is um, will Sebastian be there?"

Kurt sighed, fidgeting with the fabric.

"Probably," he said, just knowing he'd run into his devil of a roommate at some point during the night. It always happened, like clockwork.

"But don't worry, Artie and Tina will be with us to buffer any flack he might give. We'll be the four piece Sebastian defense squad."

"Hm, alright," said Blaine, giving up. "I know Artie will be happy to see you. I think he said something about them dressing up as—Kurt!"

"Sorry, sorry."

Blaine looked like he was fighting back tears, but he said, "I guess this is what they mean when they say 'beauty is pain.'"

"There you go."

Kurt was about to pin a segment of a pant leg, but the sound of keys jingling made his gaze instantly and protectively dart towards the doorway.

Covered in sweat and dressed in tight workout clothes, Sebastian was entering, taking one good look at Blaine as a standing model and Kurt on his knees with the contents of his sewing kit all over the floor, and laughing condescendingly, as he often did.

"I've always known that you two were immature," Sebastian said, "but playing dress up with each other is reaching new levels of juvenile, even for you."

Kurt took a deep breath as Blaine crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously.

"Really don't think you should insult me right now, Sebastian," Kurt said, focusing back on Blaine's leg and pulling harsh and hard on the fabric. Blaine was startled by this, but Kurt didn't seem to notice. "I have a box full of pins, sharp pins, right next to me, and trust me, I have no problem using them to pin you to the wall."

Blaine looked between the both of them and frowned, upset. Sebastian kicked off his shoes and unpacked his gym bag as Kurt continued to work beneath Blaine in silence.

"Is this really what it's like between you two all the time?" Blaine asked.

"Pretty much."

"Yep."

Kurt was pulling another pin out of his box, the wiry muscles of his arms moving quick and tight as if he were trying to keep them from swinging.

"So what tragic fairytale disaster is Kurt transforming you into?" Sebastian said to Blaine.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "When this is done, uh, I'm gonna be a wolf."

Sebastian laughed again, and Kurt silently seethed.

"Not very fitting," Sebastian said.

"Y'know we _really_ didn't ask for your opinion," Kurt said.

"You're putting on this show in the center of our room. If you're going to be so open about it, I'm going to have an opinion."

"Ow, sheesh, Kurt!"

"I'm sorry, I am."

"This is, like, the tenth time! I'm bleeding!"

"I know, I'm sorry."

Blaine tripped off the stool and held his hand to the fresh puncture on his inner thigh, as Kurt stood up and wiped the bits of fabric he'd been cutting earlier off his pants.

"Alright, my little model, you can take five. There are band-aids and Neosporin in the sewing kit."

Blaine chuckled. "Do you end up stabbing everyone you make you clothes for?"

"Only the ones I love very dearly."

Kurt had finished his own get up late last night in the sewing room, so he decided to take it out now, stare at it admiringly. As he unzipped the dedicated garment bag and let the clothes breathe, he practically beamed at them. The finished product looked just the way he'd sketched it, and fit even better than he had expected. As well, the thigh high, black leather, stupid tall Louboutin boots Kurt had gotten from the outlet the other day, were just begging to be broken in (and his empty wallet was crying because of them).

Sebastian stepped out for a moment to take a shower, and after slapping a band-aid on his leg, Blaine fixed his attention on Kurt's open garment bag.

"Holy smokes, you're wearing _that_?"

Kurt just wanted to put it on now. "Yep. This is what I've been working on, the one I've been telling you about."

"Oh, man."

Blaine came and wrapped himself around Kurt from behind, kissing the back of his neck.

"Ugh, don't start _that_ with me, right now," Kurt said, his heartbeat racing suddenly.

Blaine continued, teasing him. "Why?"

Sebastian returned with a loud slam of the door behind him, answering Blaine's question for him (and how long was that shower? Thirty seconds?)

"Sorry for just barging in," Sebastian said, sounding the farthest thing from sorry as Kurt shrugged his boyfriend off of him. Seb was wearing nothing but a thin white towel, soaking wet. "Looked like it was about to get PG in here."

"I swear to god, one day I'm going to get you one of those dog collars that zaps at your neck every time you try to bark."

Sebastian looked to Kurt to make a rebuttal, but then his eyes went past him to the outfit in the garment bag, hanging on the closet door. Upon first glance it looked like one of those cheap, slutty teenage girl costumes from every generic Halloween store ever (and it was so like Kurt to buy himself a chick's outfit, or so he thought), but upon second glance he realized that it did in fact appear to be made for a man: it had pants, and a muscle tank, and—

Oh, it had a corset, too.

Sebastian was distracted, very distracted by that for a moment, but he prevailed, collected himself.

"That looks like an embarrassing excuse for a jester's costume," he said, as Blaine moved to the bed and began to dig through the bag he'd brought with him, aimlessly.

"Well it's not," Kurt bit back, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. "It's the best little red riding hood anyone's ever made and I don't care what other ill-conceived insults you have to give it. I designed it myself, I worked really frickin' hard on it, and I'll look fantastic."

Sebastian gave Kurt's handiwork one more purposefully patronizing look, then went to his closet to get his change of clothes. He had to stave off a number of inappropriate thoughts in that moment just then, because he—well, he had a thing, a really, really bad thing, for men wearing corsets. He wouldn't tell you why if you asked, but his fixation stemmed from the first time he ever went to an all-male burlesque club in France, when he was just barely fifteen.

His parents had given him plenty of cash for "souvenirs" that summer, enough for him to buy the pretty twink in black leather he'd been trying to find the nerve to ask for a dance in there for days. Sebastian hadn't expected to fall so deep in lust in the back of the sweaty club, hypnotized and tortured by the way the fabric laced and squeezed tight around the man's middle, made him look deliberately bound. Long story short, he'd ended up telling the guy to keep it on while he'd fucked him raw into the late hours of the night, and ever since, _voilà._

But Sebastian would not fantasize about Kurt ever, even if he did end up seeing him at the 'Nightmare' in that outfit (that, in Sebastian's opinion, someone as prude as Kurt didn't even deserve to get to flaunt around). Within another minute, he was dressed, grabbing his wallet and keys and leaving the room.

It was true, what Kurt suspected: Sebastian was two and a half weeks strong and hadn't fucked anyone, anywhere. He thought maybe taking a break, and working out furiously to stave off the sex cravings, would help with his motivation or memory or mood or something or other. He wasn't sure about that now, his temper flaring up more times than he would like it to all week long, but something about having a goal to look forward to, something to change, made him feel more like himself than he had since that day that Kurt followed him to the chapel.

That Saturday, the Ohio State campus was abuzz with activity; most students were out and about, tailgating and going to the football game, and at around five or so, frat row was closed off in preparation for 'Nightmare.' Food and drink booths, foam machines, stages, mini-coasters and speakers were being set up on the street, and the frat houses were setting up their dance floors, stocking their bars, and opening up their cash registers.

Tina and Artie arrived at the pin Kurt had sent them in their group chat, about a quarter mile before the street fair would begin when the sun set, about an hour before Blaine did. The polygamous couple was dressed as, in their words, "Edward and Bella," their faces painted pasty white and Artie wearing cheap gold contacts, fangs.

"So when we gonna meet this Rachel little bitty?" Artie was saying to Kurt. He was the only white guy Kurt had ever met who unapologetically used slang such as 'bitty.' The nerdy-cute senior may've looked unassuming to most, with his sweater vests and magnified glasses, but he was the most talented director to ever come out of Lima, and he was just a seventeen year old Trekkie. Granted one with an extremely gifted artistic eye behind the camera; in his short career he'd already directed six short films, one of which had won him a national award, three stage musicals, and a one-time television holiday special. He'd established a brand, and everyone at school knew he basically had his choice of all of the best film schools in the country, from NYU to USC.

The few but loyal people who loved him were just hoping he didn't drop it all off for his other dream, which was to be a rapper; specifically, "the paraplegic Jay-Z."

"She said she'll be getting there around ten," Kurt answered, "but just to warn you, I really don't know how she's going to feel, about seeing you two together."

"I thought she told Tee that she's okay with it," Artie said, glancing at his girlfriend for assurance, but she was currently playing Flappy Bird.

"Sure, that's what she _said,"_ Kurt told him, "but it's another thing entirely to actually see it."

"Well I for one think it is a bangin' ass idea. And I'm not just sayin' that because I _might_ get to see it all go down. Literally."

Kurt chuckled. "Don't count on that."

"I don't know if I should go for it, you guys," Tina said now, putting her phone back in her pocket. "I mean, she's a virgin—"

"To the shock and awe of no one," Kurt said. "Have you _seen_ how she dresses?"

"I'm sorry, that's all the more reason you _should_ be doing this," Artie said.

"It's a lot of pressure," Tina said, pouting. "I don't want to make her terrified of ever being with a woman again, just because _I_ didn't do it right!"

"Girl, you do _everything_ right," Artie told her. "You're golden! If anything, you've got the home court advantage. She's got no rubric to base the shit off of!"

Kurt didn't understand how the two of them could let each other sleep with other people, but somehow it came as easy and as simple as letting each other borrow a pair of shoes.

"Y'know there's something to the old adage," Artie said of it once, to Kurt and Blaine, when they asked. "'If you love something, set it free.' Tee was miserable with Finn, and that ain't Finn hate, I love that brother like he was my kin. But she is too young, too hot and too wonderful to buckle down and hide herself away from people, especially other girls, just because some selfish lug who masturbates to porn all day and can't get it up says so. I want everyone to see how fun and incredible she can be. And she wants that for me, too."

Meanwhile Sebastian had just barely missed Kurt stepping out to meet his friends, when he returned to the room after his last class of the day, to grab his black jeans, devil horns, pitchfork, and trusted flask from his closet for the night. He was on his way to pre-game at his business society partner's apartment, with nine other classmates in tow, and was seriously re-considering his whole half-hearted celibacy stunt. Especially when said business partner was offering him a hit of cocaine.

He hadn't had any since his boarding school days in Europe, after a near overdose, in combination with liquor, landed him almost dead in a hospital in Amsterdam. It was only then his dad considered letting him come home, and this was what he'd meant when he'd told Kurt he probably he would've died without God.

But he did the cocaine now, as two lines turned to four lines, staving away the feeling that those days were upon him again. Feeling like maybe he would never get past them, still that lost boy deserted by his family in the Netherlands. Lonely even in apartments full of people who wanted him there, who wanted his friendship.

The drug made him feel wired, hyper-focused, and fever-y hot, the prickling in his nose and bitter taste in the back of his mouth being burned off by tequila and whiskey. Also he'd forgotten how goddamned horny blow could make him, even just the slightest pat or elbow from one of his classmates, even the girls, making his skin burn with want, making him want to jump someone's bones.

By nine, his mixed gender group of ten was out and wild on frat row; the long, dark street was full of sweaty young adults in shiny, skimpy fabric, blaring music that blew out eardrums, and bittersweet booze freely spilling from red cup to red cup. Going shirtless with his black jeans and devil-wear, Sebastian felt like the night would last a life time, and he was freakishly and quite terrifyingly anxious to get another hit of blow from the small glass vile his partner had given him before they took off. So he did, paying no mind to the people around him, feeling like the man, apparitional, unstoppable.

At ten they found their way into the most jam-packed end of the street fair, the zombie apocalypse-d Phi Lambda Lambda house, with blood splatters and fake guts all over the walls. The brothers of the house were dressed to the nines in rotting make-up, the wooden floors were trembling and shaking to the bass of the music, and Sebastian'd managed to slink away unnoticed from his "friends" to meet up with a random from Grindr.

As Sebastian pinned his next conquest up against the wall, he realized that something was missing from this contest. He didn't want to admit it was the fact that he hadn't seen Kurt around at all. That ever present litmus test, those judgmental eyes letting him know of his iniquities. He figured that this was the last place Kurt Hummel wanted to be, a sweaty den full of liquor and sin. Imagined that so long as Blaine wasn't wasted off his ass, again, the two of them had probably turned in hours ago. Exchanging five minute favors and cuddling in their nighties.

This guy he was with now was doing a terrible job at dancing, so Sebastian turned him around, making it less clear who he was, just a body; that was when he suddenly saw Blaine and Tina, hand in hand, awkwardly stumbling their way through the crowd of rowdy dancers.

Sebastian's heartbeat kicked into high gear, and then, a beat later, he saw Kurt. And the thing was, Sebastian was in a dangerously fucked up state when he saw Kurt. When Sebastian got to drinking like this, and got high like this, his perception of gorgeous men was slightly—

Altered.

The thing was that Kurt was slinking through room like liquid, blood, on these extravagant leather boots that made his legs look like a statue's. The thing was that Kurt's legs, implausibly endless, near-perfect legs, were wrapped in bright red spandex so tight around his thighs, they jiggled when he stepped. Those pants hugged Kurt's hips like—like they had a means to suffocate him, and the tight fabric actually, seriously stretched over the outline of his dick, making one's guess to its size, if they'd ever had one, pretty much perfectly clear.

As if that wasn't enough, as if those pants showing off Kurt's form wasn't really enough for Sebastian, there was the fact that Kurt's little waist was wrapped up in that corset, lacing up the front of him and stopping just under his chest. Kurt's white shirt was wide open, revealing the flushed skin of his chest and a peek of his nipples. His arms, though pale as light, were exposed and taut with muscles, muscles he probably didn't even realize he had. His red velvet hood was draped over his head, and the tips of his shiny brown hair jutted out and stuck up underneath it.

Even though Sebastian's vision was blurred, and his brain was clearly cranked to the point of delirium, shit—Kurt looked fucking jaw-dropping, a vision in red and black as he struggled to chart a path through the sea of human beings, to chase after the boyfriend who clearly didn't want him, at least not right this second.

Oh Blaine, you're so stupid, stupid, Sebastian thought.

Sebastian watched as Kurt's eyes, sharp and stunning, took in everything around him with heartbreaking caution and shyness, as usual.

Kurt couldn't see Sebastian at the moment, but Sebastian could see definitely him. And Kurt Hummel, the boy he should've kept hating, he knew it, wasn't supposed to be looking like someone Sebastian would probably kill to have.

Kurt, meanwhile, wasn't having a very good time, at least not anymore. This time it wasn't because Blaine was incoherently drunk (although he was still kind of drunk, and par the course, the more alcohol he consumed, the less attention he paid to his lover) but moreso because he was just way too sober to find this scenario satisfying, yet again. Way too many people, although several of those people did give a nod to his outfit, very impressed, and he kept getting bumped into and having drinks spilled on him and he swore, this was the last time Rachel Berry would convince him to participate in a night full of this much foolishness.

Also, Kurt was trying to ignore it, but his feet were starting to kill from his brand new boots, and his corset, spellbinding as it was, was really making it hard for him to breathe in the muggy heat. And, that desperate-to-fuck reaction he'd wanted from Blaine, for his risqué little outfit? When he first put it on, Blaine's eyes definitely had their way a bit, lots of lip biting and "god you look so good, Kurt"s were definitely seen and heard from him. But after a half hour tops, Blaine's responses his to him had dimmed to the sweet and ordinary, and he had the same reaction to looking at Kurt that he would've if Kurt had been wearing a potato sack.

God, Kurt was being ridiculous, wasn't he? As if they hadn't just spent the last three hours together, as if Blaine wasn't crazier about him than anyone would ever be, even if he wasn't singing his praises one hundred percent of the time. Still, Kurt couldn't stop the hurt about this, couldn't stop feeling like if things didn't go _perfect_ now than they wouldn't tonight, and he was starting to realize he had to, he had to ask Blaine why got so out of it and loopy with him whenever he drank even a little bit.

Also, Kurt realized: in the two months since he'd moved away from Lima, somehow Tina and Artie had gotten closer to Blaine than they were to him. Tonight they each spent more time talking to Blaine, and in Tina's case, drinking with Blaine, and there were random points in time where Tina and Blaine would randomly go missing from their party without warning, leaving Kurt alone with Artie to sit and wonder.

When they got to the Phi Lambda Lambda house, which was one of the last stops on the row, Kurt felt himself starting to get a headache from the earsplitting music, the smell of beer, the sticky floors. When he, Blaine, Tina and Artie finally got to a miniscule clearing in the muddle of bodies on the floor (people did tend to suck their teeth and give way when they saw a guy in a wheelchair with them), he saw that Rachel was finally calling him on his phone, but when he answered, it was impossible to hear.

"What? I don't know where you are, but we're at Phi Lambda Lambda, and you—oh, there you are!"

Rachel was approaching them dressed as Dorothy of Oz, complete with a basket and a stuffed animal Toto.

"You weren't lying!" Artie shouted to Tina, who was seated in his lap. "She is cute as a _kitten!_ "

"Artie, Rachel, Rachel, Artie!" Tina announced, with a quick sweep of her hand.

"Are you two supposed to be mimes?" Rachel asked them.

"Na, we're racist Twilight!" Artie yelled at her.

To Kurt, Rachel was obviously very anxious at the sight of her girl crush with the boyfriend apparent, trying not to wince at the way Tina and him were intricately close, the way Tina was absently stroking Artie's hair. But then, Tina looked to Kurt suddenly, as if looking at him would make everything clear for her, and then she stood up, taking both of Rachel's hands in hers.

"You look amazing!" she said, grinning. "Come dance with me!"

Rachel was trying very hard not to look so flattered, or excited.

As Tina took the other girl's hand, to lead her off, she glanced back at Artie to really make sure this was okay. He nodded at her soundly, and she nodded back.

"I'ma go see if I can't get one of these frat boys to show me what it's like to feel summin' below the waist again," Artie announced to Kurt and Blaine. "See ya!"

Now that they were alone, Blaine came close to Kurt and wrapped his arms around his neck, beginning to gyrate his hips.

"You okay, baby?" he shouted at him. "What's wrong?"

Kurt looked into Blaine's eyes, hoping to find a spark, but they were blank, hazed over. He should've been happy, having Blaine all himself again, but he just couldn't kick the small, sad feeling, that doubt in the back of his mind. He felt the way he did in high school, like no matter how hard he tried, he was always going to be a failed social butterfly, not sexy or desirable enough to really get what he wanted.

He couldn't say all of that here, so he shook his head, wrapped his hands around Blaine's waist back.

"I'm just—kind of over it" Kurt yelled back, over the music. "It's too crowded, and—nothing interesting has happened, and—I'm getting kind of tired—"

Blaine looked confused for a moment, but then he just pressed his body closer into Kurt's. Jutted their hips together with a bit more force than Kurt was expecting, and it made Kurt's breath catch in his throat. His stomach did a small flip as Blaine kissed his jaw and then his earlobe, pressing his tongue and lips against Kurt's sensitive skin. Kurt held onto Blaine tight and closed his eyes, trying to let his brain shut down and just live in the moment. He decided to kick things up a notch and dance in front of Blaine ass to crotch, grinding back, as a heavy-handed trap song played:

"I've been thinking 'bout you late at night /

"I've been thinking only of you /

"Ain't nothing else to really talk about /

"Boy show me what you want to do /

"These days you've been feeling lonely /

"Yeah I've been feeling lonely too /

"I'ma fuck it up, won't you show me some /

"Run it back like you owe me some—"

Kurt looked out ahead at all the people around as he danced, and then, through a gap in the crowd, he spotted him: the absolute last person he wanted to see in this moment.

Across the way, Kurt saw Sebastian. Standing up against one of the blood-splattered walls, jutting his hips out with ease as some guy without a costume touched the floor and shook in front of him. Sebastian had black horns sticking out of messy, dirty blonde hair, and as per usual he was without a shirt, sheathed in sweat, making him look like he was the model for how sweat was supposed to look or something. Kurt bitterly and silently cursed Sebastian's strong arms and pecks, those abs that seemed to be death-defying, those black jeans low enough to flaunt his v-cut and hip bones. He was gripping the guys hips with his hands, riding out the inconsistent waves and looking like he wasn't pleased enough. Sebastian never did seem pleased enough, did he?

Then without warning, Sebastian looked up from the ground and into Kurt's eyes. And Sebastian got caught up in Kurt's image, in bright red cheeks and open chest and tight black corset. Kurt was ruining his brain, and meanwhile Kurt didn't like the way that Sebastian was staring at him, the way he was gaining an even cockier expression and thrusting the guy harder into his body.

After about a minute, with Kurt's eyes scattering to find literally anything else in the room, Kurt felt Blaine begin to slow down behind him; when he turned, Artie was by Blaine's side and was pulling him down to yell something in his ear, diverting his already erratic attention.

"Yeah, yeah—let's do it!" Blaine was saying to Artie, as Kurt was giving up on dancing and frowning.

Kurt felt Blaine's hands leave his waist and, slightly irritated, he was about to ask where Blaine was going but, before he could, Blaine was suddenly grabbing Artie's wheelchair handles, yelling "Stay right here, Kurt, I promise I'm coming back," and darting off. Ramming into people with Artie's wheels, disappearing in seconds.

"Oh my god, what am I doing?"

Kurt was talking to himself, and if he hadn't felt like going home before well, he certainly did now.

Kurt wasn't angry about Blaine running off; if anything at this point, he was used to it. He wanted everyone to have fun even if he couldn't, he was just tired, starting to feel like the clicks from the beat of the music were creating the rhythm for the pounding in his head. Uncomfortably, Kurt sighed and pushed his way through dancing couples until he got as close as he could to the nearest wall, which had the counter for the bar attached to it.

Gratefully, it was a little quieter back here, as the song changed to a Ke$ha one more techno and upbeat. Kurt stood towards the very end of the bar counter and propped his elbows up on it, leaning back. Grateful for the temporary reprieve this brought his pained feet, he kept his guard up, eyes searching and vigilant. As Kurt stood there by himself, he picked out Tina and Rachel dancing amongst the people. Rachel seemed to have let herself loose and Tina was currently teaching her how to salsa. They were totally off beat with the music, and Tina was shouting something at her that was making her laugh hysterically. Meanwhile Blaine and Artie were at the front of one of two stages, Blaine taking Artie out of his chair and helping him crowd surf a bunch of beefy frat dudes.

Kurt was trying not be a jealous harpy, or a bitch, but he wanted to leave, he really just wanted to leave. He decided that he'd wait for Blaine for fifteen minutes, maybe ten. If Blaine didn't turn up by then, Kurt was going to walk himself back to the dorm, try and sort himself.

Sebastian was staring to sweat off his buzz, so he told his guy that he was going to get more drinks for them. He left abruptly, making his way towards the bar as his dizzy eyes took in the shelves of glass bottles on the wall, and the fantastic image of Kurt standing there in his red hood, leaning up against the counter, dwindling his thumbs.

When Kurt realized that Sebastian was coming, pitchfork in hand instead of over his shoulder, he crossed one leg over the other so as to hide the hard on he'd been slightly sporting for minutes now. He then shifted as far down the counter as he could away from the bartender, so as not to encourage Sebastian to taunt his sudden lack of Blaine.

Sebastian walked up to the barkeep and didn't look at Kurt at first, but felt a scalding heat between them as if it were tangible. He still spoke first to the bartender instead. He asked for two AMFs as he flashed his fake, and Kurt shook his head, trying not to think of all the dirty things that that ID had probably let Seb get away with. As Sebastian waited for the drinks, he looked over at Kurt, because he just had to.

His eyes skimmed up and down Kurt's face and body, especially his hips and the black corset, clinging tight to his lower back. He had a brief, dark image of Kurt's legs naked beneath that corset, open for him like one of his fantasies, and then washed it away like it was slowly, surely plaguing him.

Kurt could feel Sebastian's eyes on him, felt like they were leaving imprints on his skin, so he said something to try and stop it.

"At this point I'm not even surprised that you're stalking me," he said. "Go on, get it out now, whatever insults you have for me. I'm waiting."

"Where did Blaine go?" Sebastian asked, assuming a similar position to Kurt and leaning his back against the bar counter. "Off to dance with some other guy who sweet talked him and then offered him a beer? I mean, that's all it took for me to get him away from you last year."

Kurt's eyes flickered over to Sebastian's flexed bicep as it rest against the counter top, and then tore his eyes away, looked out towards the crowd.

"Fuck you, Sebastian," Kurt said then, almost harsher and harder than he meant to.

Sebastian almost couldn't believe Kurt's choice of words, his eyes dancing all over the parts of Kurt's face that weren't shadowed by the hood. Especially his blush-stained cheek, his jawline, his full lips.

"I would never let you do such a thing," Sebastian said, his heart racing. "Although the way you were staring at me across the room earlier, while you were dancing with Blaine," he ratcheted his voice lower, "I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted it."

Kurt groaned loudly, obscenely.

"God, you are seriously the most arrogant person to ever live! As if everyone who looks at you for more than five seconds wants to go to bed with you! Get over yourself!"

Sebastian waited, waited for more.

"I was looking at you because you were looking at me!" Kurt continued.

"That's arguable," Sebastian replied.

"Everything is arguable with you, literally, everything."

"And as I've said before, I think you get off on the argument."

"The only thing I'm getting off to tonight is the fact that I won't be seeing _your_ face, while _I'm_ in bed, with _my_ boyfriend."

Kurt didn't know if he'd ever felt this pissed before, so he was about to let Seb have it, really have it, and tear into him emotionally, but the startling sound of glass smashing somewhere threw him off.

Kurt and Sebastian both watched as something monstrous transpired a few feet away from them, as shouts, groans and rumbles erupted from a swarming horde of guys dressed as zombies, apparently the height of some conflict between these kinds of frat guys and those kinds of frat guys. The crowd began forming a messy, jumbled circle around what would appear to be a bloody, dog-piled fist fight, and then there was a hard push from someone to someone else outside of the fight, and then lots of people were being thrown around violently.

As the fight clearly thickened, and the mob became rowdier, Kurt's heart skipped a beat and he panicked, thinking, _Oh my god, where is Blaine?_ as Sebastian was about to turn and ask the bartender what the fuck was taking so long with his drinks. But then there were shrieks and high-pitched screams, and everyone running and a loud pop and fissure spread through the room—a gunshot.

Bodies hit the floor and Sebastian, without thinking, threw himself at Kurt and took him down with him. He landed on top of him with a hard thud, holding himself and Kurt there on the floor as three more bullets popped off and spliced the thick glass bottles along the wall above them, shattering them and making them rain.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut as the glass hailed down on them and Sebastian covered him pretty much entirely, then groaned out loudly at the feeling of dozens of tiny sharp shards, pelting into his back from the bottles' sudden bursts. Kurt's back was full of dull pain from the impact of hitting the floor, and he was panting, heedlessly digging his nails into the skin of Sebastian's lower back, so hard that he was drawing blood.

Then it was like hundreds of people started yelling, some saying things like "oh my god, he ran out!" and "call 911!" and there were no more gunshots to be heard, just the sounds of rabid footsteps stomping and fleeing. Sebastian stayed down trying to brace all of the pain he felt, the blood he felt trickling down his back, and that was when he realized he was _pressed_ up against Kurt.

Lying down on top of him but propped up on his arms, he saw that Kurt's chest, his beautiful, open chest, was heaving up and down underneath him. Kurt's eyes were still shut tight, and Kurt knew, he knew who it was who had his arms surrounding him, his chest flush against his. He knew this was Sebastian grounding him like he just knew that Blaine was dead, that it was him who'd been shot and he needed to get up, now, and escape this, and never come back, or maybe just stay forever, and die here too.

Kurt opened his eyes, then, and met them with Sebastian's, realizing that Sebastian had been cut up pretty badly by the glass, that their hips were aligned and blood was seeping down onto his pants and he was _crazy_ hard right now. That their faces were way too close, that Sebastian was just staring at him panting, that the room was beginning to clear out and sirens could be heard, so he took his hands from around Sebastian's waist, tried slowly to retract his arms.

Sebastian let Kurt's hands slink away from him, and watched as Kurt's frantic eyes found the ceiling and everything chaotic around them, instead of him. When he fixed to move every part of his back twinged in abject pain, each little speck of glass digging deeper through his torn up skin, but he powered through it, getting up, looking around, and suddenly pulling Kurt up to his feet.

Once Kurt was standing he watched as Sebastian, his back dripping with blood, made a mad dash towards the door of the house as cops and EMTs entered right past him. Three or four people were lying on the ground and he found he could barely move his legs without them trembling terribly, as one of the EMTs, a small female, asked him if he was hurt and then hurried him out of the house, and into the street.

As soon as Kurt stepped out into the crisp midnight air, Blaine running into him and tackling him in a hug. Kurt embraced him quickly and soundly as Tina and Artie came up closely behind, asking him if he was okay and all other kinds of questions, but it sounded like a jumbled mess to his ringing ears.

Blaine drew back and looked at Kurt with unsettled eyes, holding onto his boyfriend's waist and staring down at his arms with a frown.

"Kurt," Blaine said, "you're bleeding."

And he was. His forearms were cut up and little bits of blood had started to seep through his pale skin, and he only realized and they only started burning after Blaine pointed them out, after Kurt was aware of them.

Blaine began to wipe Kurt's arms off with his shirt, as Kurt made pained little noses, and Tina sat in Artie's lap, on the phone with Rachel. Kurt didn't want to admit it, in the aftermath of this accident, but he kept looking around, looking for him somewhere, and wondering how things could always change so fast, so irreparably, in their world without warning.

It was safe to say the Phi Lambda Lambda house was shut down for the night, as were the rest of the remaining festivities. The entire campus was on lock down even after the gunman was acquitted, it had been an hour since the party had ended and Kurt, Blaine, Artie and Tina were still in the street. Kurt had had his slight wounds treated, the bits of glass removed, by a paramedic, and was now currently wrapped up in a shock blanket, sitting on the curb. Blaine was next to him, head on his shoulder, and Kurt was finally starting to feel normal enough to remember the real world,and his plans for later on, which were definitely starting to burn out.

Tina and Artie had been off to the side for a while, talking to OSU students around and trying to get a story. Soon enough they rolled back over to Kurt and Blaine.

"You guys good?" Artie said, with Tina plopped down lazily into his lap. "Apparently no one got seriously hurt, no bullets in any bodies."

"We're okay," Blaine answered, as Tina kissed Artie on the cheek. Kurt let Blaine answer for him, staring obstinately down at the slits on his forearms.

"Did you guys even see what happened?" Tina said. "Rachel and I were already near the door, so when we heard the gun we just slipped right on outta there."

"I didn't," Blaine responded, "Artie and I were pretty far from it, too, just got the worst of the trampling as people tried to leave." Blaine looked over at Kurt, who was still silent. "Kurt?"

Kurt finally found it in him to move, say something.

"No, I—I didn't see anything either. Luckily, I was by the bar, and I—he, somebody, warned me in time, and I got down."

Blaine exhaled, rubbing his hand along Kurt's back.

"I'm just really, really glad that we're all okay," he announced to the group of them.

Artie nodded and whistled, brushing some of Tina's hair out of her face. "What's up with Rachel, she a'ight?" he asked her.

"Yeah, she managed to run out so fast she got all the way back to her dorm room without anybody seeing her. But she says she's really scared. She asked me to come over, actually. Doesn't wanna sleep alone."

"So, go get it, girl."

"Really? But we agreed that next time, we—n-not that anything is gonna happen _now_ , but—that you'd be there, and—"

"Yeah, but that was only if she agreed to it. I think she liked me and all as a person but, I don't think she's ready for this jelly."

"You are such a dork."

"I'm serious, yo. Go. Call me tomorrow. And don't forget the photos."

"Oh my god, shut up."

"Kidding, I'm kidding. But seriously, if she lets you, don't forget the photos."

"Blaine?" Kurt was suddenly muttering. Blaine looked at him as attentively as he could while he was still sort of drunk, which wasn't that attentive at all. "I don't know if I wanna, you know. Try anything tonight. "

"Of course," Blaine said avidly, taking one of Kurt's sweaty hands in his, squeezing it. "Of course, babe, we should just get some rest tonight. Whatever you want."

Once was the lock down was finally cleared, Artie was a throwing a "See you Monday, Blaine," over his shoulder, Tina was heading in the direction of Rachel's dorm, and Kurt was walking hand in hand with Blaine through the still-crowded street, through the smog of glitter, dirt, and darkness.

Kurt asked Blaine to wait in the lobby downstairs in his dorm hall, because he couldn't, he couldn't stop thinking about that moment with Sebastian. And if Sebastian was there, when he got back to his room, he needed to say something to him finally, do something permanently to alter the way he treated him. And he needed to do it alone.

When Kurt opened the door, though, Sebastian wasn't there. Kurt turned on his desk light, fixing to pack a small overnight bag for Blaine's, but stopping, staring at himself in his hanging wall mirror.

He stared at his reddened face, a combination of natural and purposeful blush. He stared at his pasty arms and the scrapes of pink and brown that now tarnished them; he stared at his outfit, the hood and the white shirt and the corset and the fitted, red pants, and wondered what the point of it all had even been for a moment.

Kurt bent down and unzipped his long leather boots, relieving his throbbing, tired feet. Then, as he started to unlace the corset from his abdomen, he heard that familiar clicking and jingling at the door.

Kurt stared at the doorway until it opened, until Sebastian was walking back in still wearing his costume.

Sebastian first glanced at Kurt's hands as they worked to untangle the corset's lace, and then he made the mistake of looking up at Kurt's face. Sebastian was still partially drunk, still not seeing things clearly, the cuts on his back that had been treated by medic finally scabbing, so they weren't dripping blood everywhere, disgusting. But still, his back sang with pain, and when saw the cuts on Kurt's arms, the small frown in Kurt's expression, the guilt he'd felt before came spilling out of him in the form of words, almost without his permission.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Sebastian said, quiet and uneasy.

Kurt didn't seemed to phased by this much, and continued to take the corset off, lying it on his desk when he was done.

"For what?" he said, once he was finished with that.

"For—" Sebastian sighed, having to stop, his heart almost beating too hard for him to say this, "holding you down, back there, for scaring you. For everything, I've done to you."

Now Kurt seemed to be processing this, blinking rapidly in surprise.

"I suppose I appreciate that," he said eventually. Then he shook his head. "But I know you don't mean it."

Sebastian was about to protest, but then Kurt was taking off his shirt. Letting Sebastian see that beautiful body without care.

"You only feel guilt because you know that you have to, and when it's all said and done you just go back to being the same, old, shallow rich kid who thinks the world turns on its axles just for him."

Now that he'd begun, Kurt was feeling empowered. He threw on a t-shirt, packed up his things, and sang the rest of his song:

"You're kind of a piece of shit, Sebastian. You say whatever you want, and do whatever you want, and don't care who gets hurt in the process. And you know, maybe if Blaine hadn't ever come between us, or you and I had met under different circumstances, or if you would stop being such a dick all the time because of whatever happened to you in the past, and just let people see you, for who you are. I don't know, maybe we could've been friends. It'd be nice, to have another, friendly gay face in the world. But I can't make you see me as a human being. Instead I'm just this prop you feel you get to kick around, whenever you get bored. But no longer."

Sebastian wished he could contest these statements, but deep down, he knew that Kurt was right.

"I have to go," Kurt was saying suddenly. He walked out of the room, and hours later, as he tried to fall asleep, in Blaine's bed, he had no idea why he was crying.


	7. Personal

After waking up at Blaine's on Saturday morning, Kurt decided to spend the rest of the weekend home in Lima. The New Directions were having a six hour practice at McKinley to gear up for Sectionals, so while Blaine and Artie were engaged, Kurt and Tina were stuffing their faces with cheesecake, eating their feelings, at BreadstiX. She was having mixed emotions after her apparently spectacular night with Rachel, and it was always funny to Kurt to see her hair in a messy ponytail, to see her wearing a baggy shirt and sweatpants with no make-up on. She didn't even need it, and it reminded him how strong she was as a person, how little she cared about what the people around her thought of her natural looks.

"I have to say," Kurt said to her now, as she finished telling him about her heated night with Rachel, "I've always known you were bi, I mean, obviously you're bi, but I kinda figured it was going to be one of those things. Y'know, the Katy Perry thing, where it's just an in-between thing before you find a man."

Tina finished swallowing her mouthful of chocolate cheesecake, as Kurt dug into the classic one beside it.

"That's kind of offensive and sexist, but I guess I do see your point. I mean, I've been hung up on Finn for the last _three years,_ until recently, not a woman in sight. But Rachel is _really_ amazing, Kurt. She's ambitious, she's headstrong, she's gorgeous, and, we sound amazing when we sing together. Even if she does talk about herself _way_ too much, and even if she thinks The Rolling Stones are a clothing brand."

"But does she want you to break up with Artie?"

"She's not going to _say_ that she does, at least not now, but." Tina sighed, shook her head. "I can tell it makes her really, really jealous and sad. Not that I can blame her at all, I mean _—_ I used to have fantasies about cutting Finn into a thousand pieces if he even _blinked_ at another person."

"So glad you're not having those anymore," Kurt noted.

" _That_ was because he cheated on Quinn with me, and you're never supposed to start a new relationship with cheating." She sighed, wiping her fudge-covered mouth with her sweater sleeve. "And _this,_ with Rachel? Is a shiny, sparkle-y, brand new relationship. I used to dream about what we did in that room together last night when I was a kid. When I was younger, before I met Finn, I used to _always_ think I'd end up with a woman. I _told_ Artie that when he tried to go out with me in eighth grade, and when I finished watching _The L Word?_ I told my parents that if it never became legal, I was eloping in the Alps somewhere with Katherine Moennig. But..."

"But?"

"Artie is my best friend in the entire world, I can't break up with him, now that we're just finally getting started. I know no one else understands what we're doing, but I haven't been this happy in a _really_ long time. I _also_ haven't found a girl I feel so crazy about, in such a short time of meeting her."

"If you had to choose," Kurt said to her, "right now, if I told you I would take this cheesecake away until you picked. What would it be?"

Tina groaned unhappily, as Kurt dragged the cakes to his side of the table.

"I don't know," she whined. "Rachel? She's the one who wants monogamy, and I'd do it, for her. But then Artie _—_ ugh."

"Well, definitely don't rush your decision." Kurt relinquished the cake back to her grabby-hands. "It's something you should think about more before you start having relations back and forth between the both of them. And Rachel deserves a clear decision. I haven't known her a very long time, but I can see that she's _very_ traditional. If she likes you as much as I can clearly tell she does? Something like this could break her."

"I know."

"But you're the smartest, most forward thinking person I know. You'll figure it out."

"Thanks. Why is sexuality so confusing and weird?"

Kurt laughed as he gobbled down the last bite of the classic cake, and mumbled full-mouthed: "You're telling me."

"By the way, _you_ need to tell me what the hell is going on with you and Sebastian."

Kurt took his time chewing up his last bite, to avoid the subject. Then, when he was done: "There's nothing to tell."

"Oh boo, don't lie to me, Kurt. When I was dancing with Rachel, I saw you guys talking at the bar. I know you love Blaine and it's not about sex with him, but there's _something_ going on. Even I could see it from yards across the building."

Kurt sighed, swirling his fork anxiously through the melted whipped cream on the plate in front of him.

"I don't know. It just bugs me so much that he's _proud_ to seem like one of those gay guys we all get stereotyped to be. The kind of guy who just wants a hook up, probably has 'no fats, no femmes' in his bios on Grindr and Craigslist, and doesn't take no for an answer from anyone. I'm starting to suspect that he doesn't even _want_ to look or be that way to people. But it's like instead of playing out a genuine personality, he has this pre-recorded track spinning over and over. Also..."

Tina's brow quirked. "Also?"

"He's the one who covered me last night, when the gun went off. Practically threw himself on top of me and if he hadn't, I think my face might look the way my arms do right now. Instead of thanking him though, I totally ripped him a new one. Told him every critique of him I've pretty much ever thought of. Out of context, I was just so upset about everything from the past, and so confused by the _one_ good gesture he managed to show me, that when _he_ was the vulnerable one for once, instead of me, I saw red and just went for the jugular."

"Well, if you want my opinion, he deserved you finally telling him what's wrong with him. If he makes up one more pun about my name, and I hear about it, I will take chopsticks and every other stereotypically Asian thing he's ever pinned on me to you or Blaine, and stab his little meerkat eyes out."

"Sign me up to watch that."

"But maybe you guys should actually talk, when you get home," Tina said seriously. "About Blaine and everything that's happened in the past. You can't keep living in such a hostile environment, Kurt. I'm worried about you, and it's only been two months. How are you supposed to survive the whole year?"

"I don't know." Kurt shoved his fork around the crumbs on the plate. "I think only another cheesecake will make it better."

"Make that two. Or five, or eight. Did you know they have mint chocolate raisin now?"

"That sounds disgusting."

Tina held up her water cup, the baggy sleeve of her sweatshirt dragging through whipped cream.

"To having boyfriends who would never leave us, even if our thunder thighs exploded from all this cheesecake."

Kurt bumped the rim of his cup full of ice that he was chewing on to hers. "Cheers."

When it came time to pay the bill, Tina snatched the leather book up.

"Kurt, stop it, your money's no good here. Consider this my thank you for accepting all my not-being-good-enough-for-Brown type of crazy."

When he got home an hour later, his dad was in the kitchen with the oven on, meal-prepping at the kitchen island.

"Oh, no, are you cooking?" Kurt said, kneading his dad's thick shoulders. "I just had eleven pounds of cake, so I'll be scrapping."

"Y'know we still have our family dinners without you Fridays when we can, but I thought, we have to make an exception and have a second, since the man about town is finally in our midst."

"I have to start making more trips down. I have class so often that it's hard to get away, but I miss you guys. I miss this."

Even if he wouldn't eat anything, or would try not to, Kurt would help prepare. Italian salad and baked ziti pasta were on the menu for when Finn and Carole came back.

Kurt pushed up his shirt sleeves to wash a head of lettuce, and upon seeing his arms, Burt clasped one, frowning at the lacerations.

"What happened? Don't tell me some'a those guys up at that school are givin' you grief. You don't fight 'em, alright? No matter how much they deserve it. We talked about this."

"No, it's _—_ it was an accident. Glass. I fell."

"Must'a been some fall. You puttin' Neosporin on it every day?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Alright. You let me know, if it's more than an accident. If it's someone."

"I will."

Kurt tugged his sleeves back down over the scars, so eager for them, for that memory, to be gone.

"Remember what you said to me, when we talked about s-e-x?" he said now, separating lettuce leaves into a bowl. "That with two guys, it'll be harder to forge emotional connections, all about the physical? I don't know, I guess I'm just wondering if I'll ever get to _just be friends_ with a man ever again. It's like it's either we have awkward tension because we're gay, and there are practically no gays in Ohio, or they avoid me like the plague because they're straight and afraid I'm gonna hit on them."

"This about your roommate?" Burt guessed correctly. "That uh, sloth lookin' guy?"

Kurt chuckled, loving his father's semi-accurate comparison.

"With the sex you're attracted to, it's just gonna be different, son. Heck, I've been alive fifty some odd years, and I can still count on one hand the married women I was able to _just be friends_ with when I was with your mother. But that don't mean you and whoever this guy is can't be some of the few who manage it."

Finn and Carole came home to the ziti just minutes away from finishing. They all caught Kurt up on Burt's latest wins as a congressman, and Finn talked about how excited he was to have survived his first manager's shift without Burt at the shop. Kurt was paying attention but also texting Blaine under the table, disappointed that the Andersons had come home early and were putting their collective foot down on him, not letting him go out for the rest of the weekend.

He thought about sneaking up to Blaine's window, the way they used to in high school, but he was so full after guiltily consuming his dad's food, that when he got to his familiar, encompassing king bed, he knocked out instantly, and dreamed sweet.

He visited with Blaine very briefly the next morning when Blaine managed to step out "to go to the grocery store," and Blaine promised Kurt that his parents wouldn't be in this kind of mood with him for much longer. Kurt drove back to Ohio State then, strengthened and warmed by the few kisses they'd shared, and spent pretty much the entire day alone in the dorm, relaxing.

A little after nine o'clock, he got a flier slipped under the door reminding him of the floor meeting tonight, to ring in the month of November. " _Meeting is MANDATORY for ALL residents, whether you're gay, straight, or a god damned independent._ " Kurt expected it to be another waste of his time, and spent the rest of the hour slightly dreading when he'd have to show up for it, even more than he dreaded the sound of Sebastian's keys jingling.

Sebastian walked in still dressed his nice shirt and tie from church that morning. Briefly, he looked at Kurt sitting at his desk—Kurt in transparent white t-shirt and silk pants—then swallowed hard as he kicked off his dress shoes, almost not recognizing himself for how sincere and untainted it sounded when he said,

"Hey, Kurt."

Kurt watched a little suspiciously as Sebastian proceeded to unpack his bag.

"Hi, Sebastian," he said, after a while.

A silence fell between them, then, as Sebastian undid his Sunday best and changed into sweatpants and a tank top. Kurt kept his eyes dutifully trained to his cell phone instead of taking the glimpse he wanted to take at Sebastian's body. He wondered if the slices from the glass on his skin were healing as they should've. He waited until he could tell that Sebastian was clothed, however, before speaking.

"There's a—" Kurt cleared his throat. "There's a floor meeting, tonight. Starting just about now, I think."

Sebastian sighed.

"Great."

"The second that guy says something homophobic to me again, I'm walking out."

Sebastian chuckled. "You say that every time."

"What?"

"You threaten that you're going to leave the meetings all the time, but you never actually do."

Kurt ignored the truth about this statement and the two of them didn't say anything to each other as they walked down the hall to the lounge, side by side; Sebastian with his hands in his sweat pockets and Kurt with his phone in his hands texting Finn.

Sebastian was thinking about the frustrating hours he'd spent at church this morning, as they walked. It was always so angering to him for some reason, seeing his retiring father still standing at that podium. Even in his sickness, coarse-voiced and walking with a cane, speaking slower and slower each time he preached, he insisted that he would be preaching the word to dumb masses who needed his health, until literally, his dying breath. The congregation members always cried and hemmed and hawed over it, the way he said that every day he woke without a stroke or an apnea was God's miracle.

It very well might've been, Sebastian thought, but it was more than likely because his father was the most hardheaded person who God could allow to exist. So much so that not even years of hypertension, and every doctor telling him that this was really it, now, could kill his tunnel-vision doggedness, his steadfast belief in Revelations, and his growing idea that _he_ was actually God; that he'd been so ordained, so articulate with the Word, that he would one day replace even Him.

That morning, Sebastian had been sitting in the front row next to his mother only half-listening to his dad's tired voice, reading from Ecclesiastes, and half-thinking about himself in an all-male twentysome. He was fully versed in how wrong it was to host pornographic images while loosely holding a Bible in his lap, but the fact that he hadn't gotten any on Halloween night, the way he'd suddenly wanted to, was making him feel wound up and miserable.

The thing about it was that being in church, with his stiff tie and restrictive slacks and all the people watching him because of the "pastor's son" title, made Sebastian really hate how easy heterosexuals had it. He didn't understand, number one, why the couples with crying children always sat in the pews closest to his, why the parents didn't do everyone a public decency and take their little shits outside.

And the thing Sebastian disliked the most about the churchgoers was the exhibitionist's way they had about their practice. The fact that all these people came to show off how "Godly" they were, when many of them were breaking God's laws in ways they'd never admit in the building. He knew from eavesdropping on church wife gossip that several men in the congregation had been divorced several times. Many of the wives suspecting them of cheating, and many had children out of wedlock with their current partner.

The leaders of the ring, in fact, his very own parents, argued vehemently every single morning on their way to church. His mother always cursed about her un-dry-cleaned skirts and his father always drove the car with tight, white knuckles. Sebastian drove himself to church without them these days, and took himself home as soon as service let out, dodging "are you still single?"s and "I have this cousin, she's great, she would love you"s from his parents' nosy friends. But he couldn't imagine that they'd stopped their morning arguments just because he wasn't living with them anymore. When he was away in Europe, in fact, and they were alone, their fights had escalated to a level that terrified him.

And yet when the two of them were in church, they smiled fake, gave each other chaste kisses. Put on a show and made everyone think that the young Mrs. Smythe was _really_ just "falling all the time."

Sebastian loved his parents, don't get him wrong. Well, he loved his mother anyway, even with her quick temper and affinity to speak French-lish to strangers, not understanding why they didn't understand her. But whenever Sebastian spent more than an hour with them, he felt like the person he really was suffocating, within the confines of religion and reputation.

He continued to attend for the few moments of clarity he still sometimes had with God, for the times he just wanted to believe in something good, so hard, and so well, that he could allow himself to buy his parents' peaceful facade. Those times he was able to zone out during worship, think about the times when he was small and not about how sexually frustrated he was as an adult.

It was ironic that the only times he _really_ enjoyed himself in church were the times he'd just been laid hours before.

This Sunday he was going on three weeks without action, and it didn't help his mood much that now, this evening, Kurt smelled like coconut and his sweet conditioner, that the scent was mind-numbingly potent as they walked next to each other.

Kurt was walking closer to him than was their usual standard, just an oblivious inch away from their arms brushing against each other. Sebastian was a flick of the tongue away from insulting Kurt about how good—no, terrible he smelled, but one actual, accidental graze of Kurt's arm against his, when Kurt took one crooked side step, made Sebastian's words retract themselves quick.

When their skin brushed, Sebastian's dry with Kurt's soft, Kurt mumbled, "Sorry," and Sebastian's hatred melted.

"You're fine," Sebastian said, and he meant it.

They managed to be the last ones from the floor to show up to the meeting, and the same ratty couch they'd been "forced" to sit on the last two times was empty and waiting for them this time. Kurt sat down first without thinking much of it, his hands clicking away the screen of his phone as Sebastian was the one who hesitated, this time. After giving a short, frustrated sigh, Seb settled into the cushion and glanced up at Taylor the R.A., who was sitting with his clipboard and watching Kurt militantly, as if the younger boy had already offended him.

Kurt finished his current text to Finn, something along the lines of, _Yes, Tina kind of has a girlfriend now, no, she hasn't broken up with Artie, and no, this doesn't mean she thought your penis was small,_ as Taylor started the meeting off with another complaint about used condoms over the shower heads.

"Seriously?" Kurt muttered under his breath, over the sound of Taylor's lecturing. "Who keeps doing that?"

"Whoever it is is never going to confess."

Kurt glanced over at his roommate. "Oh, god, it's you, isn't it?"

"Please," Sebastian said, flat. "I have much better uses for condoms."

Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I still haven't forgotten the time you left a soiled condom on my Dior rug, within two weeks of moving in," he growled. He pictured that unsightly image in his head, and he remembered how awful the first week of the sock-on-the-doorknob rule had been, and how furious he'd been about Sebastian's shenanigans.

Sebastian smiled.

"And I don't know why you're smiling either," Kurt said. Sebastian looked over at Kurt who was somehow still staring down at his phone. "It was disgusting. _You_ were disgusting."

Sebastian shifted on the cushion, smile quickly fading, glancing down at Kurt's frustrating thigh enveloped in soft, dark blue fabric.

"What is it with you and that rug anyway?" Sebastian mumbled, eyes tracing their way up Kurt's leg and then following Taylor's sign-in sheet as it came around the room (Taylor had enforced it as a way to ensure that residents who skipped, like Kurt, could be written up if their names weren't written down).

Kurt paused for a moment at Seb's question, his demeanor becoming tangibly sad. The fancy, square Dior rug had been his mother's once, something he'd convinced his dad to let him bring from home. Like a lot of his mother's old possessions, the rug still faintly smelled like her skin and her Chanel perfume, and no Kurt didn't frequently dig his nose into the thin, expensive fibers just to get a whiff, anymore, but it had been hers, and like her, he loved it so.

Putting it in the center of the room, the room he shared with someone like Sebastian Smythe, wasn't the smartest idea he'd ever had, he realized.

"It was my mother's," he said simply. "She's dead."

Sebastian leaned across Kurt's space to reach for the sign-in sheet, as Kurt tried not to stare at Sebastian's cut-up shoulder, those muscles entirely too close.

"I didn't know that," Sebastian said, writing his name down. "I'm sorry."

Every time Seb said it ever since their conversation on Halloween, Kurt's heart did something funny. Right now it made him somewhat sorry for the words he'd told Sebastian, even though there was no way in hell he'd take them back. Right now it made him think, as well, oddly enough, about the words his father told him when he'd sort of unconsciously asked for his advice on this.

Was friendship with Sebastian really what he wanted? Would a peace-keeping like that even work? Kurt distracted himself from this internal questions with his next text from Finn: _Oh did I tell you Blaine's coming to dinner tomorrow night dude?_ He had to be nudged impatiently by Sebastian with the rough edge of the plastic board in order to stop replying.

 _Really?_ Kurt asked Finn after scribbling his name down on the sheet, picturing Blaine sitting at their table like he used to in the summer. _Without me? Boo. What's the occasion?_

 _Uh I guess he saw Mom at the supermarket today, she told him we missed him at our dinner on Saturday and he was talking about how he missed you so much, she invited him._

"Next order of business," Taylor was saying up ahead, as Kurt lamented that he'd be in bio lab all night on Monday. "RHA is doing this—door decorating contest, thing, for Thanksgiving and Christmas. The winning rooms, one guy room, one girl room, will get two hundred bucks taken off their board next year."

Kurt had already been sold at the word 'decorating.'

"If anyone is interested," Taylor was saying, "let me know now so I can—"

Kurt's hand shot up rapidly, as Sebastian looked over.

"Of course," Taylor mumbled, scribbling something down, " _you_ are interested."

Kurt's hand fell back down and he frowned, offense prickling at his skin as a few guys around them chuckled. Sebastian wasn't one of them, surprisingly.

"Okay, that was seriously unnecessary," Kurt said to Taylor.

Taylor just looked up at Kurt and half-smiled.

"What, don't know a joke when you hear one, Hummel?"

Kurt was going to reply to this at first, but then he sighed, shook his head and glanced away.

"Anyway," Taylor resumed. "Next order of business _—_ "

"See what I mean?" Sebastian said to Kurt now.

Kurt handed him a small death glare. "Excuse me?"

"I don't see you scrambling out of the room right now, in some bout of self defense."

"I'm doing what's called 'taking the high road.' Something that I'm sure you know nothing about."

Sebastian didn't dignify that with a response, which he considered taking the high road.

"I don't like it when people revile me," Kurt resumed, quiet, "but at this age I can't pick a fight with every single person who's ever going to dislike me. If I do I'll be exhausted."

Sebastian glanced at Kurt again, saw the scrapes on his pretty arms, and tried to ignore the remorse settling heavy into his chest.

"Besides," Kurt rambled on, typing into his phone again. "Mr. R.A. up there is _not_ as funny as he thinks he is. People who can only make jokes when it's to bash other people have a a seriously warped idea of comedy."

"I don't know," Sebastian mumbled. "Some people think my jokes are hysterical."

"I suppose 'hysterical' is relative. You only think you're so funny when you're ruthlessly picking on someone who isn't you."

"That's not always true. I make jokes about myself plenty. Want to know how to make a gay guy scream twice?"

Kurt's wide eyes found Sebastian's.

"What?"

Sebastian repeated his joke in an even lower voice. "Want to know how to make a gay guy scream twice?"

Kurt just made a face at him.

"Fuck him really hard," Sebastian said, "and then wipe your come off on his curtains."

Kurt emitted a short, high-pitched snorting noise from his throat, as a few guys around him turned around and looked at him.

Sebastian smiled privately, and Kurt felt himself blushing as he composed himself.

"That wasn't funny," he protested.

"How do you know for sure that you're in a gay bar?" Sebastian continued. "You'll find the patrons sitting on upside down bar stools."

Kurt pressed his lips together to keep them from smiling, the skin of his chest heating up.

"Okay, correction," Kurt mumbled. "I don't think you can be funny unless the jokes are gay and grotesquely sexual."

"Most good humor is offensive to someone, especially when it's to the joke teller himself."

"Well, I don't agree with that," Kurt said.

"And I don't care," Sebastian said. "Because I'm right."

"You two have something you wanna share with the rest of us?"

Taylor was staring at Sebastian and Kurt directly now.

As Sebastian raised his eyebrows, and Kurt shifted uncomfortably, Sebastian would swear, really swear, that his sudden irritation with the R.A. had nothing to do with defending Kurt. He responded, bluntly:

"We were just talking about what a tremendous waste of time these bullshit weekly meetings are."

Kurt stared at Sebastian disbelievingly, and several of the guys around chuckled their agreement.

"No we weren't," Kurt tried to cover, in a sing-song voice.

"Bullshit?" Taylor repeated, adjusting his clipboard and laughing without a shred of humor. "If you don't wanna be here, Smythe, get the fuck out."

"Fine with me."

Sebastian stood up and took a bow as he exited, and Kurt, red-faced, watched him go until he disappeared, his fingers tangling absently through his damp hair.

Taylor shook his head and wrote something down, and when he said, "You too?" to Kurt, Kurt shook his head quickly, and stayed put.

The meeting ended half an hour later, and when Kurt got back to the room, Sebastian was in bed. Shirt off and glasses on, reading. Kurt cleared his throat as he went to turn off his desk light, and Sebastian looked up at him accordingly.

"Why did you do that?" Kurt said to him. "Earlier?"

Sebastian took his glasses off, to punctuate his answer.

"Because you wouldn't."

Kurt turned off the light on his side then, climbed into his bed, burying himself in blankets.

"I really don't get you," he said to Sebastian then, watching as his roommate stubbornly studied his book, knees curled up against his chest.

Sebastian didn't look up at him again, instead simply said,

"Goodnight, Kurt."

Kurt turned over onto his other side, muttering,

"Goodnight, Sebastian."

There was something different about the way Sebastian was looking at him, recently. It was a subtle shift, less smirking and looking more or less happy to be giving him grief, and more solemnity, calmness, quiet. Kurt didn't want to believe 'being a dick' was his roommate's one personality trait, but maybe it was, if emptiness and awkward silences were all that would replace it instead.

Part of him knew why exactly things were different, though. Part of him caught himself sitting around thinking about Sebastian's body on his, how the two of them had never touched each other any more than accidentally to his knowledge, but had that night somehow as if "fate," which he hardly even believed in, had forced them to come to terms with their inevitable conjugation.

He knew that something had changed when Sebastian came back to the room that night, and finally, actually showed human vulnerability when he said,

"Sorry for everything."

Sebastian, meanwhile, wasn't going out of his way to be nice to Kurt that week or anything, but he wasn't being mean either, and that was the thing. This was the change, if it could even be considered that: it was taking all the damn resistance he had in him to have simply neutral conversations with Kurt, to answer questions with no bite and try to see him removed from their complicated history, trying to erase the images he still had of Kurt's waist in that corset, Kurt's legs in those pants.

He didn't do "sorry" very well, but now that it felt worse to _not_ be sorry, he didn't have much choice but to try and see it through.

That Wednesday, Sebastian was sitting at a two person table on the third floor of the library, studying for an exam. Kurt was walking up the stairs headed to that floor too, and stopped suddenly when he saw Sebastian sitting alone.

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek as he angrily recalled the last time they were up here, when they brusquely ran into each other and Sebastian had spilled coffee all down Kurt's front. But Kurt decided to test something now, then, walking steadily towards the table until Sebastian looked at him.

Sebastian was only partially engrossed what he was reading, so when he felt someone approaching, caught a whiff of that sweet smell, he glanced up and his defenses threatened to rise up immediately.

"Something I can do for you?" he said.

Kurt gave Sebastian a small up and down glance, noting his dark jeans and striped button-down shirt, with way too many buttons undone for a regular school day.

He worried the strap of his bag with his fingernails.

"Can I sit?"

Sebastian narrowed his eyes for a moment, then exhaled, spinning his pen between his fingertips.

"Knock yourself out."

Kurt looked around the room almost self-consciously before he sat, setting out his books on the table carefully, placing his cup down like it was made of fragile glass. Sebastian fleetingly glanced up at Kurt when he was sure Kurt wouldn't notice, when Kurt leaned down to get something from his bag and his long, pale, beautiful neck was in clear, unapologetic view.

Sebastian wanted to say something about its indecency, an insult about the pallor of Kurt's skin wanting to crawl from his mouth and infect. But he felt that thing in his chest, that thing that had been most intense when they'd been on top of each other the other night, and somehow, his lips stayed sealed.

Kurt eventually started to lose focus on his lecture notes, something about the fact that Sebastian hadn't even mildly protested to him sitting there making him want to push the envelope.

"Sebastian," Kurt said, after some time.

Sebastian hesitated before muttering, "What?"

Kurt watched Sebastian's fingers flex around the pen as he wrote on the side of his textbook page.

"You haven't insulted me in four whole days," Kurt answered, his stomach doing a tiny flip.

Sebastian continued writing.

"I was going to throw up on that god awful sweater when I saw you walk in here," Sebastian recited, blandly, "but it looks like a half a dozen people already beat me to it."

Kurt's fingertips ran along the hem of his sweater under the table, but he didn't let his expression falter.

"Funny, but I could tell that was halfhearted," Kurt said carefully.

Sebastian put down his pen then and sat up straighter, sparks in his eyes."Did I just hear a homeless cat screeching for its life as it got hit by a car, or was that just the sound of your voice?"

Kurt looked mildly surprised by this at first, but then a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Sebastian was taken by it, totally confused. It was like Kurt was making fun of _him._

"Look," Sebastian said, his patience with this whole guilt on his heartstrings thing wearing painfully thin. "I can't promise you that every time I insult you it's going to kindle your parts enough to your liking, but trust me, I could keep the insults coming all day if you wanted me to."

Kurt raised his eyebrows.

"If I wanted you to," he repeated.

Sebastian looked away from Kurt's damning eyes, then, and back down at his book.

"As stimulating as this conversation is," he spoke, coolly. "I have an exam to study for. So you can either sit here in silence and act like I'm invisible to you, or you can go ahead and find yourself another table."

Kurt considered this for a moment, glancing around the room, but he did not, in fact, find another table. He stayed put, sitting still and pretty across from Sebastian, flipping through his biology notes as if nothing about this arrangement were unsettling.

If Kurt's presence and scent were affecting Sebastian's ability to concentrate, and his sanity, he didn't let it show in ways that Kurt would ever notice. After about thirty three minutes (Seb was counting), Sebastian found himself watching Kurt's hand is it curled around his cardboard coffee cup, and to stop himself from watching the rim of the lid touch the tips of Kurt's pink lips over and over, he asked him,

"What are you drinking?"

Kurt hesitated, pretending to be unsure of whether or not the question was for him.

"Oh, am _—_ I allowed to speak to you now?"

Sebastian took a deep breath, fingers clenching tight around his pen.

"Grande non-fat mocha," Kurt answered then, noting Sebastian's tense and wary movement. "Not too special, but it's comforting, gets the job done."

Sebastian nodded once, and Kurt wondered how this line of conversation was even remotely interesting to him. Was this Sebastian's idea of small talk or something? Why were they doing this?

Kurt imagined how he and Sebastian must've looked now. It was hilarious really, two guys who had once sworn each other worst enemies, sitting across from each other in a cramped space. Knees inches away from knocking under the table, posture clearly exhibiting a foreign and uncomfortable situation for the both of them. It was almost as if they were little kids who were being punished in "the corner." Except for the fact that Kurt had offered to sit down, and Sebastian had willingly allowed it; except for the fact that maybe, this was the both of them punishing themselves.

"What about you?" Kurt said to him now.

Sebastian looked up as if lost for a moment.

"I mean—coffee," Kurt said, slightly shrugging. "What's your coffee order."

"Venti white caffe au lait, with Blue Mountain coffee beans specifically. Extra dry, half skim milk, half whole milk, two and a quarter pumps hazelnut, and a floater of Courvoisier."

Kurt snorted. "You can't be serious."

"I like what I like."

"Not only does that sound disgusting on the palette, but that is one of the most stuck up coffee orders I've ever heard, and I consider _myself_ a coffee snob."

"You should see the looks I get from the simpletons who work at the Lima Bean."

"I don't blame them. If I were a barista I'd throw you out of my store."

"But you'd probably do it for reasons other than my coffee order, right?"

Sebastian pictured Kurt as a red-faced, pissed-off Lima Bean employee, snarking him and hating him from behind the counter, and almost smiled.

"You know you can tell a lot about a person from their coffee order," Kurt said.

"Enlighten me."

"You order Blue Mountain coffee beans specifically because you know they're expensive. Anything you say after that is just to let me know you think I'm trailer park trash who doesn't know the difference between two types of slightly less homogenized cow milk, and doesn't know Courvoisier is cognac from France."

After another twenty six minutes (Seb was still counting), Kurt began to pack his things and get ready to leave the table. When he stood up and adjusted his bag over his shoulder, Sebastian's sudden gaze at him stopped him, almost seeming to inquire why he was leaving.

"I—I have class," Kurt said suddenly, giving an answer to a question unasked.

Sebastian sighed, said,

"Fine. See you later."

And as Kurt walked away, he just knew that his confusion was remnant on his face.

 _See you later?_

Sebastian stayed in the library for two hours longer, accomplishing much more work by himself than he'd been able to with Kurt at his table. Just as he was about to start a new chapter of reading, his cell phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans.

He pulled it out of his pocket to see that his mother was calling, and his stomach tied itself into knots in a state of dread.

His eyes flickered around the room self-consciously, even though it was nearly empty; if someone were watching him, it might look like he didn't want anyone to know who was contacting him. Sebastian's mother almost never called. It wasn't because she didn't ever wish to speak to her son, but because that was the kind of family dynamic they'd always had. She didn't feel the need to constantly remind people that she cared about them, with actions. It was supposed to just be implied, by virtue of her existing.

She could be a bit unlovable at times, high maintenance and tactless, but maybe that was where Sebastian had always gotten it from.

As his phone still buzzed, he fixed his eyes on the scenery in the large glass window to the right. He watched as students crossed the quad beneath him, as rusted leaves dwindled and fell to the ground, as he answered the call worriedly on its third ring.

"Mom?"

Sebastian sat up in his chair, tensing. He never knew what to expect from her these days, the rare times she was far enough from her husband to speak to her son alone. Especially not with the _change_ coming and all. It always made him so fucking nervous, like at any moment, she would say those words, and his world would come crashing down.

"Mom," Sebastian repeated, impatient, when he got no answer.

Presently, she sighed into the phone. _"_ _Hi, hi,"_ she said, absent.

"How are you?"

" _Your father, he—he made a mess of it all again. I need to come see you, to give you these things."_

He stood up suddenly. "What things?" Then: "Wait, you're coming _here,_ now?"

" _Yes. The highways here are so offensive, I think I might die in a crash with a popped tire, or a road kill, or—"_ Sebastian heard her honk the horn, then curse someone violently in French. _"_ _But, not the matter, I will be there, as soon as I am. This is no problem, right?"_

"No, I mean." Yes, it was, but he knew there was no arguing with this woman. She was _his_ mother, after all. "See you when you get here."

She showed up to his dorm's parking lot wearing a sparkling gold blouse, white jeans, and stilettos that clicked when she walked, always dressed extravagantly even when it was just to run errands for her cold, unfeeling steward, where he had her stashed in bumfuck-nowhere, Ohio. Opened the hatch of her brand new BMW and started handing her son cardboard boxes, the gilded bracelet on her wrist that said "Adélie," her first name, jingling as she said to him, "Go on, take them."

"I've told you, I don't want any of his crap," Sebastian said, as she stacked them, one by one, in his arms.

"It is _our_ crap. And I will not let you slither from this, until you have looked through every one. You will send me photographs of each unopened box, and every item, showing that you have done it. Am I clear?"

"Yes."

She kissed him on both cheeks, then started picking the lint from his sweater, pinching and poking at his ribs, as she followed him through the lot.

"So skinny, do you have that, what is it, anorexic? Shall I come up and cut your string beans every night, like I did when you were a little thing?"

"Mom, stop."

Sebastian and his mother made several hurried trips back and forth, her simply watching as he did all of the labor, arguing about nothing and everything as Kurt, with headphones on and a book at his desk, watched in no-doubt wonder, looking like he had questions.

Then, when it was all upstairs, Seb's mother started fussing with his hair, as Kurt stopped trying to look like he wasn't eavesdropping and took one headphone off, watching the pair with wide eyes.

"Your clothes are all over the place as usual, such a boy," the woman said. "Look at your roommate's side, so pristine." Then to Kurt, smiling: "You are not cleaning up after this one's messes, are you?"

Kurt perked up at this and smiled back, impressed, and then said smugly to his roommate:

"I like her, she can stay."

Sebastian sucked his teeth, swatted his mother's jeweled hands away from his scalp.

"Shall I clear a space for you here?" he said to her. "Or are you still pretending that living at his is even fractionally sustainable?"

"Oh, hush. No, I wanted to speak to you in person about our estate sale. Since you avoided me on Sunday like I did not almost perish, pushing your screaming corpus from my labia."

"Mom, Jesus."

"The china from Chizhou, the silver he bought me when we were in Milan, the ten hundred _thousand_ euro statues and art in the foyer, he is being without soul, trying to sell it all to _strangers!_ Will not let me say so because I am a woman, says we have no place in these affairs. Do not you want any of it?"

"I don't know if you've noticed the shoebox I live in currently, but I have no room for china, or a marble bust of some German dictator he looks up to."

"You are aware, you can stay at the house, when he _—_ " Her voice trembled, but she stopped it. "When he leaves it."

" _Fuck_ no."

" _Mon trésor_!" She slapped him lightly across the face. "Language!"

"Sorry."

Sebastian looked over at Kurt, who was turning quick back to his homework, trying not to look caught and trying very hard not to laugh.

"But you know I can't stand being in that graveyard anymore," Sebastian said. "If I lived there after him his ghost would be up my ass, saying 'sit up straight, don't wear those shoes with those pants, diversify your stock portfolios' as I tried to sleep at night. I'd be sick."

His mother sighed.

"You are so stubborn, _mon chéri_ , I do not know how you maintain. Now that we are all adults, and now that we have so less time, we should be trying to make amends. You need to care more, about this family. It is not perfect, but it is the only one you have. He loves you, you know, even if he has a funny way of showing."

Sebastian scoffed. His father never could say he loved him to his face, and Seb doubted he'd ever said it much to his miserable wife, either. "Is that _really_ why you came?" he asked her. "To be his messenger?"

"I have come because you looked so very depressed, at church this weekend. I know that look, from your father. I Just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Well, I'm fine. Thanks."

The last thing she said to him, in French, was about Kurt:

" _He is so cute, you should be dating him."_

"Mother, please, he understands."

Kurt, indeed, turned over one shoulder and acknowledged her praise of him.

" _J'aime ton collier,_ " he said, of her emerald Swavorski piece.

She winked at him. " _Merci._ "

Sebastian walked his mother out and down the elevator, ignoring the quick pulse of anger he felt as several guys in the lobby practically broke their necks to stare at her. As he waved her goodbye, watching her speed out of the parking lot, he tried to keep his temper cool, tried not think about the memory of his mother siding with his father, when he got kicked out those years ago. That it had been a strain on their already complicated relationship ever since, but now she wanted them to have the relationship they'd had before it.

He'd vacillated back and forth from both forgiving her and not, many times since it all went down. But mostly, most consistently, he was still wounded. More than he thought she'd ever know, at the way she'd let her husband just send her son away, just because he'd tried to be honest with them. For her reluctance to ever leave his abusive father, even after he tortured them mentally, and sometimes physically, with his too-high standards and rules.

But then: who was he to talk? He couldn't leave Mr. Smythe, or the money, either. He still went to church every Sunday like her, too, and that was why he couldn't hate her, in the end. The both of them were doing what they had to, to survive, in psychological captivity.

Kurt, now that he had the room to himself again, was trying not to let the exchange he'd just witnessed with Sebastian and his mother make him miss his own so terribly. To that day he knew Elizabeth Hummel would've accepted him fully for who he was now, remembered her always fostering his gentleness and light, and supposedly "feminine" qualities, years before either of his parents knew he was gay for certain. She and Burt used to argue about Kurt's style, his mannerisms, his "inappropriate" interest in women's fashion, when he was much too young to understand it. Kurt didn't know he wasn't supposed to play with girl's things, because his mother never so much as batted an eyelash at his want for them.

Kurt actually thought, in the few moments he'd spent with her, that Sebastian's mother reminded him of his a bit, so out of curiosity, he pulled up Sebastian's Facebook on his laptop, to ponder her. Noticed that Sebastian, just a minute ago, had changed his profile picture to one of the two of them. It was dated from this most recent Mother's Day, taken in Sainte-Maxime which, he could tell from the caption, was Adélie's hometown on the south coast of France. Apparently that day he had wined and brunched her, as well as sent her hundreds of azaleas, and the long dedication, written in French, made Kurt somewhat shocked that Seb was capable of such feelings. Such love.

His mouse hovered reluctantly over the 'Send friend request' button on Sebastian's profile, but eventually he decided to let his stubbornness down, clicked. Just minutes later, Sebastian accepted.

Then just a few more minutes later, Sebastian was walking back into the room.

"Sorry," he said, when Kurt turned to him, quickly x-ing out of whatever was in his browser window.

Kurt stared at him curiously. "What for?"

A lot, Sebastian almost said to him out loud. But, at the moment:

"She thinks it's funny to chastise me and talk about extremely personal family business in public, where everyone can hear her."

"Oh, don't apologize for her, I liked her. Also, she's stunning, looks not a day over twenty nine. Botox?"

Sebastian couldn't believe Kurt was asking him that, but then again, it was _Kurt,_ so he could. "No," he said, chuckling, "not yet."

Kurt was quiet, then:

"So."

"So?"

"I think that we should talk."

"Okay, talk."

"I didn't actually, properly thank you for protecting me on Halloween. You really didn't have to do that, and I can't stop—thinking about um, what might've happened, had you not—had you not been there."

"Find that hard to believe coming from someone who just recently called me, and I quote, 'kind of a piece of shit.'"

"I know, I know that wasn't the kindest, but really? You've said such awful things to and about me over the last year that I think you deserved it."

Sebastian didn't, couldn't, refute that.

"I don't know why you think I did you any favors," he decided to say, instead. "You probably would've ducked in time without my help, and all I did, when I pushed you to the ground, was—" he paused, his memories of that night painfully vivid once again, "hurt you, for no good reason."

Kurt tried not to think about the moment he saw blood, dripping off Sebastian and blending in with this color on his pants, the bulge in them he knows Sebastian _had_ to have felt—

"Yeah, sure, you made my back hurt a little, and I've got these little dings on my arms. But you clearly got the worst of it. I don't think my instincts would've kicked in nearly as quickly, for you."

Sebastian started walking up to Kurt now, slowly.

"And that's the thing," Kurt continued, trying not to falter at the quickening of his heartbeat, the butterflies in his stomach, as Sebastian came closer, "had the roles been reversed and I'd seen the bullets coming, I don't know if I would've helped you. Because in my head I kept—tallying, what you said, what I said, and at the moment I thought you were _winning_ and I just. I don't want us both to keep wasting what little time we have, during what is supposed to be the best time of our lives, running up these tabs and keeping score of how nasty we can be to each other. And I'm officially over the whole Blaine thing, if you are, so. I think that we should finally at least _try_ to start over, and see each other like, I don't know. We're meeting for the first time again. Clean state."

Sebastian got close enough to Kurt that he could see the barely-there pores in his skin, each long eyelash, taking in his lovely, lovely features and noticing the little speck of cotton he currently had caught in the one strand of hair of his, just to the right of his widow's peak, that was slightly blonde and kind of curly. Cursed himself for having some of the hairs on his kid's head memorized—

And Kurt's breath got ever shorter, as he pondered how it was suddenly so hot in this room, how Sebastian's silence could be so unnerving.

" _What_?" Kurt prompted him.

Sebastian reached up and pulled the cotton out of Kurt's hair, holding it up in front of Kurt's eyes with his finger.

"Oh. Thanks."

Sebastian flicked it to the ground, then turned to walk back to his side of the room.

"So," Kurt said, his fear of Sebastian settling into something much more manageable, "do you agree, then? That maybe, we…can be friends?"

Friends.

Being friends, to Sebastian, required getting to know one another without stocking the information up as ammunition for the future. Being friends required effort, time, and maybe even a tiny little bit of Sebastian's heart, without knowing he was going to get his dick wet in return. Being friends meant that Sebastian might not be able to keep the darkness of his past, his ghosts and his demons, from showing Kurt he probably wasn't going to be worth the effort.

Friends meant that they would consider each other real, human people with feelings and ideals and quirks, in their heads, instead of the usual inconveniences.

To answer Kurt's question, Sebastian shrugged, and for the first time in a long time, for someone who wasn't family, he let someone else have the control.

"You tell me, Kurt. From this point forward, I want what you want."


	8. MOVED

Hey there, if you are reading this story on this site, I am no longer updating here and only updating on Archiveofourown. So head there and search for my username choicescarfsylveon or the title of this story to continue on. Thanks!


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